Saturday, December 15, 2007


There was never a night so black as the night of the invasion.

I was a soldier then, convinced that my country could do no wrong. I was young, almost in love. Almost, not quite. Not enough to keep me from enlisting at any rate. I knew that I would have to fight, that men would die. That was what happened in war. I knew that I might die. It didn't seem to matter so much, somehow. I don't think I knew what death was. I don't think any of us did. Death is something that resents being pinned down.

There was never a night so black. Trust me.

I was a soldier, in the prince's own squadron. I'd shown exceptional skill with a sword, they told me, and so I received this honor. I would be on the front lines, taking no prisoners, with glory ripe and ready for the taking. I knew that I would kill someone. I knew that I would kill a lot of people. But they were the enemy. They were more beasts then men. At least, that's what they told us.

Stars haven't seen a night so black as that. Even they hid their faces.

I was a soldier. I was a good guy. I was a hero.

I never realized I was an enemy as well.

Black. Only black. No moon, no stars, just black.

He was a soldier. He was the enemy. I should have killed him. I knocked his sword to the ground, held my sword to his throat, smiled. Why did I smile?

Why did he?

Black skies, black smoke from the oily torches. Black swords, black smiles.

I was a soldier. I had to do it. He was a soldier. He was the enemy. I could kill him, I would kill him!

So why did he smile?

Black hearts.

I was a soldier. Soldiers kill people. He was a soldier. He killed people. He would kill me. I could kill him. I should kill him. I was a soldier. I smiled to kill people.

He smiled to be killed.

I killed him.

There was never a night so black as the night of the invasion.

I don't smile anymore. I know what death is. It resents being pinned down, but you can pin it down regardless. And it smiles at you. It smiles because as you pin it down, it takes something from you. It takes something you can never take back.

I was a solder. I killed again. I became a hero, a good guy, with glory beyond what I could dream. But it doesn't mean anything. I don't smile anymore.

But he smiles. He smiled as he died. I don't know his name, I don't know his past.

All I know is he smiled. And I killed him. He still smiles as I suffer.

When I die, I shall smile.

There was never a night so black.

A bit darker than usual, I'm afraid. I started typing and this is what came out this time. Enjoy.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Phantom Club

November gets no posts. Feel sorry for it. Anyway, here's some writings by me.

Blind could feel the last rays of sunlight on his back as he crouched on the edge of the building, listening to the sounds of the twilight city below. He was quite sure that the sunset behind him was beautiful, everyone would certainly tell him it was. He didn't really know, though. He'd never seen one.

He knew how the sun warmed his skin, and how the shadows of the buildings cast patches of coolness through the city. He knew the cold feeling of the metal beneath his fingertips as the warmth of the day dissipated into the chill air. He knew how the birds called among themselves that the day was gone, he knew how traffic dwindled from it's great roar of the daytime to near-silent whispers of the lone car heading home, he knew how the city itself seemed to sigh as it celebrated the release of sleep.

All this he knew.

He was just frustrated that he couldn't see the stupid thing, that's all.

Everyone had told him about it, and he was certain that they'd done a wonderful job, but it really didn't help to tell him about the way that the brilliant orange melted into the midnight blue of the sky when he didn't know what orange was. And really, how could he expect them to describe orange? It was... Well, orange. Not much help.

Of course, this shortcoming hadn't stopped him from writing about sunsets. Some of his best lyrics had been about sunsets. He'd written about the clouds that billowed around the dying sun, about the first dance of the silver stars in the inky twilight. He wrote about things he didn't know, he sang about things he'd never seen.

But he wouldn't be singing tonight. Tonight was not a night for Jay Kilsinger, but rather a night for DJ Sightless. And DJ Sightless never sang. Too bad.

Yeah, it's shorter than usual. And I didn't number it. But since I'm pretty sure nobody reads this, you'll live.

Thursday, October 25, 2007


So Recently I've started rendering fractals on my computer. Just for fun. I have no intention of putting them on an art site or anything. But here's a couple of my favorite ones, just for the sake of someone besides me seeing them. Assuming someone besides me reads this blog.

My very favorite isn't here, cause it's too big for blogger to upload. I might post it someday, though.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Defiant Chapter 3

“So,” Cain said with a smile that would reassure a vampire, “I understand that it's you gentlemen who saw the phantom?”

Surveyors One, Two, and Three, better known as Jim, Carlson, and Edward, looked at him from their hospital beds. “Um... Yes,” said Jim.

“Who are you?” asked Carlson.

“And why do you have a loaded rifle?” Edward chimed in.

“All in time, my friends. As for now, just think of me as the creepy man with a rifle in your hospital room who's going to ask you questions. You're going to answer them.” Cain enjoyed scaring people, and this was a prime opportunity. “Right?”

After a moment's hesitation all three chorused, “Right.”

“So exactly what do you want to know?” asked Jim hesitantly.

“For starters, where did you see it?”

“In the west side of the forest, slightly south of the hidden trail head we found a few months back. He... I mean, the phantom, hadn't been seen there before, so we figured we'd be alright,” said Carlson.

“Wrong...” muttered Edward.

“You say the phantom is a he?” Cain focused his attentions on Carlson, but Jim answered instead.

“Yeah. Me and Ed got a better look then Carlson did, cause we started running later.”

“Hey, he was scary! Leaping out of a tree in a cloak the color of blood, and then just standing there, staring...”

“Hey, you took off almost before he started coming at us! For all we knew, he could've just been some random dude... In a cloak... Leaping out of trees... With freakish red spirals all over half of his face... Ok, so he probably wasn't normal,” Ed conceded.

“Anyway. He's a guy phantom, or whatever. Not a normal human. As Ed mentioned, he had freakish red spirals on the left half of his face.”

“ Red spirals?” questioned Cain. “You do realize that your story contradicts the wraith-like-tortured-spirit face story we've been getting up until now.” They shrugged. “Ok, back to the spirals. Just that made him not human?”

“Well, that and the flying. I swear he was flying.” Carlson interjected.

“Oh, not the whole 'It flew, It flew!' thing again. Are you sure it was flying?” Cain glared and fingered his rifle as he spoke. “Because this will go much easier if your story follows the laws of physics.”

“Hey, no need for violence.” Edward held up his hands, one of which was in a cast. “We're just telling you what we saw. The guy might not have been flying, but it looked a heck of a lot like it.”

“Ok, start from when you first saw the phantom.” Cain sighed.

“Well... We heard a voice when we were just heading down the trail, minding our own business...”

“And mercilessly mocking Carlson,” interjected Carlson.

“We were not merciless,” muttered Edward.

“Boys?” Cain tapped his fingers on the rifle. “I only need one of you to tell this story.”

“Um... Boys?”

Carlson made a face at Edward, then caught Cain's glare. He shrank back. “Shutting up now.”

Edward smiled. “Phantom tree, Carlson, Phantom tree...” Cain relocated the glare. Edward flinched. “Joining him.”

“Thank you,” said Cain, then motioned to Jim again. “Continue.”

“Well... We were minding our own business, mocking Carlson about believing in the phantom and all...” Jim paused and sent an apologetic look to Carlson, who smiled an I-told-you-so type of smile. “Headed towards where Edward thought he'd heard something. And I'd just said that if we saw the phantom, then I'd believe it exists, flying red ghost all the way. Just then, the thing did a front flip out of a tree ahead of us and landed about 40, 45 feet away, with this billowing red cloak thing swirling around it. Honestly, it was almost sorta cool.”

“And you almost sorta wet yourself,” interrupted Carlson with a grin.

“Look who's talking.” Edward said, dissipating Carlson's smile.

“Guys, now is not the time...” Jim was watching Cain.

“Gentlemen...” Cain's voice carried a warning tone in it. “There's two bullets in my rifle and three of you. As I mentioned before...”

“Um... Yes. Being quiet is a wonderful thing, with many redeeming qualities! Boy I sure do love being quiet, it's one of my favorite things, and...”

“We're going to practice right now! Yes, right now! Why don't we just let Jim get on with telling the scary rifle man the story now.”

“Anyway! After the billowing cloak thing, he just sorta stood there and watched us for a moment, and I told the boys that...”

“Wait, it sorta stood there? How can it sorta stand there?”

“Well, it's just the way he was standing. He looked ready to move, almost like he was moving already, like he was just waiting for us to run before he started chasing us. And he pointed at us, like he was accusing us of something... Of course, when we didn't run right away, he just leapt into the air, about ten feet high, coming towards us, and... Well...”

“We screamed like little girls and ran.”

“Very fast little girls. Manly ones.”

“Yeah,” Jim shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Hey! It's a new chapter! That has been written for like, a month now! Feel free to critique.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

Random quotes

Yeah, I should post more often. But I'm fairly sure nobody reads this, so it doesn't really matter.

“I sleep in the anti-computer box. See over there? It's entirely made of not computer.”

"So maybe this was mostly my fault."
"Well... Yeah."
"How is it not entirely?"
"...You didn't stop me?"

“I would, except that at some point it becomes much more interesting to set things on fire rather than eating them.”

Wednesday, September 12, 2007


You know you're really, truly tired when you can say "Gardening is the theme of Hamlet!" and mean it. And you say it in such a way that it reminds you of Phoenix Wright, with the pointing and the fire of justice in your eyes, and you feel that you have totally shot down your opponent and they will never, ever be able to prove otherwise. Not with their silly theories about revenge being the theme. Gardening is totally the theme of Hamlet. And I don't believe you if you say otherwise. And do you know why?
Because it's midnight, and I'm almost done with an essay about Hamlet. I get the feeling that I'll turn this in tomorrow, and the teacher will say, "Well, the first part is good, but I get the feeling that during your conclusion, you just started making stuff up." And then, I will look her in the eye, and say with the fiery conviction of justice, "Yes. Yes I did." And then gardening is the theme of Hamlet. Cause I can prove it.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Defiant Chapter 2

“Sir?” The young man watched nervously as the bounty hunter pulled a long, black rifle barrel out of the box.

“Yes?” responded the man, in a walking-on-thin-ice tone that made his employer's representative jump.

“We just wanted to let you know that the phantom has been spotted...”

“Phantom?” he interrupted, without looking up. He looked down the barrel, and snapped it onto the rifle as he continued. “You seriously believe there's a phantom.”

“Well, we don't quite know... I mean... Um... Well, yes.”

“A phantom. As in, ghost? As in ectoplasm and the disembodied spirits of dead people? Or is it more of a hobgoblin, some sort of mysterious monster, a creature yet undiscovered by science?” Cain LeStram looked the man in the eye. “Let's get something straight. Whatever is in that forest, it's not a phantom.”

“But sir...”

“Well, I don't quite care what it is,” came another voice. Both men looked up to see a man in a gray suit walking down the shattered sidewalk towards them. “We're paying you to shoot it.”

“Now that I fully intend to do,” said Cain, leaning the rifle against the truck. “You'll have yourself a dead whatever soon enough.”

“Mr. Miller! What are you doing here... I mean, I can take care of this, Sir. You didn't really have to come down.”

“I'm fine, Brant. I wanted to speak to Mr. LeStram myself. You can go.” Mr. Miller adjusted his tie as he spoke. “If you really need something to occupy your time, I'm sure the janitorial staff could use some help.”

“No Sir. I have plenty to do Sir. I'll go now Sir.” Brant backed away before half walking, half fleeing up the hill towards his small black car, which currently looked fairly meek next to the elegant limousine that had pulled up next to it.

“What's with him?” asked Cain, pointing a dirty thumb in the direction Brant had fled.

“Chronic Lackey Syndrome,” responded Mr. Miller with a chuckle. “Symptoms include mindless obedience, over the top respect, and power ties. Fairly common, I'm afraid.”

“Ah.” Cain smiled. “Is it deadly?”

“Not particularly. Completely incurable, though.”

“Too bad.” Cain coughed a bit and leaned against his pickup truck. “But I suppose you didn't come down to talk about him.”

“No. There's been another report of the phantom.”


“Yes, yes, I know. It's completely ridiculous. But let's just call it that for the sake of clarity, alright?”

“Hey, you're the boss. You say phantom, we go with phantom. So what did it do this time?”

“Badly scared three surveyors. They reported that it actually came out of the trees and attacked them.”

“You sure it isn't one of the 'it flew, it flew, we saw it' reports that you get so often?”

“Quite. They report that it actually touched the ground, and one claims he saw it's face.”

“Well, the face thing is nothing new, but the touching the ground thing we might want to look into. Nobody's reported that before, am I right?”

“Correct. They're in the hospital building at the main camp if you wish to speak to them.”

“Hospital? Don't tell me the thing actually attacked them.”

“I doubt it. From what I've been told, one or more of them fell while he was running. He's fairly scratched up. I didn't pay much attention to that part.”

“So I'll go have a chat with the surveyors,” said Cain with a grin, “and we'll find out what they saw.” He put the rifle into the back of the pickup and pulled out his keys. “You want me to follow up on whatever?”

“Yes. Please do.” Cain climbed into the tattered leather drivers seat and slammed the door shut, but opened the window when his employer continued. “Also, if you find the phantom, I don't particularly care for it alive.”

“Already understood. You pay me to kill things.” Cain rolled the window up and drove off.

“You don't have to put it that way,” muttered Mr. Miller. “But at least he's direct.”

'Ello everyone! I had this written a long time ago! I just never bothered to post it. But now, you all can read it! And critique it! Or whatever! But seriously, feedback of any sort is appreciated.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

The Phantom Club (Chapter 1)

“Look out!”

The crowd scattered as a volley of EMS fire ricochet down from the level above. The man who'd fired the gun stepped to the edge and grinned. The silver logo on his red jacket shone in the light shed by the neon signs around him and the beams of sunlight that made their way through the tangle of silver buildings high above. He raised his gun to fire again. What to shoot, what to shoot...

A beam from an FL-2 singed his hair and he turned his attention to his opponent. A man in a yellow jacket looked back at him from behind dark sunglasses, wearing the same grin he'd had a second ago.

“Hello, lead head,” said the leader of the Delve gang with a grin. “How's life with the Bolts treating you?”

“Oh, fine, fine. They pay much better than you ever did, Emmit. Cooler jacket, too.”

“Really.” The grin disappeared, then came back with a vengeance. “And I suppose you shooting at innocent pedestrians is another benefit?”

“No, I did that with you guys too.” He shrugged. “But when have you ever cared about that?”

“An excellent point. I might consider doing the same. But first...” Emmit raised the FL-2 again and aimed it at his head. “I've got some business to take care of.”

The cafe-goers stared as the lifeless body thumped onto the street.

“Now...” He stared down at the lower level. “Where was I?”

The remnants of the crowd scattered as beam after beam found it's way into their midst. Emmit grinned as he pulled out a targeting scope from his jacket pocket and fitted it on his weapon. “Now lets see... who wants to die?”

A business man hiding under a table caught his eye, then a homeless man half hidden in an alleyway. Finally he settled on a little girl trying to find her mommy. “Don't worry, little girl, you won't be lost for long,” he whispered to himself.

A flash of black dashed through the corner of his eye. Three seconds later, a shroud whipped itself over his face and his gun was wrested from his hand. He looked up to see the edge of the black cape flying backwards. A grinning white mask stared at him with dark eyes. The figure landed on a railing, balanced perfectly. It tilted its head to one side and held up his weapon for him to see. It examined the gun for a moment, then placed it's hand on the setting dial. Three clicks to the left; did that make the beam weaker or stronger? Emmit couldn't remember.

The grinning figure raised the gun, aiming it at him in the same manner he'd used only a second ago. It cocked it's head and held up three gloved fingers. Two fingers. One. He turned and ran. A pulsing beam met the sidewalk two inches away from his foot. He ran faster, turning a corner and disappearing through the smoky doorway of a bar.

A cheer rose from the crowd below. “Phantom! Phantom!” The figure turned and stared down at the crowd. It raised one hand, gave a small wave, then bowed. It then examined the weapon in it's other hand.

The barrel of the gun broke with a sharp crack as the phantom struck it against the metal rail. It examined the remnants, then threw them over the railing. They landed in a trash can near the edge of the square.

The crowd continued cheering. “Thief! Thief!” Not an accusation; instead, the word was a name.

The one called Thief nodded it's head to them, the black fedora dipping over it's eyes, then leapt into the air, landing on a wall and leaping to another until the black-cloaked figure finally disappeared into a patch of shadow.

All was silent for a moment, then the businessman came out from under the table. The homeless man resumed his street corner. The little girl ran to her mother's open arms.

Everyone returned to their normal business, except for the two police officers who removed the body. But then, that was their normal business.

High above the square, Thief watched, impassive behind the grinning mask.

What's this? Another story? Indeed it is! And there's gonna be more of this one too. Critique please!

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Defiant (chapter one)

“Why me?”

“Why not?” Marci smiled as she pulled out another makeup pencil. “We need a phantom, and you're the best one for the job.”

“Is that purple? No. No purple. And no, I'm not. Couldn't you do it?”

“Last I checked, I couldn't do back flips out of nowhere and swim half the waterforest without coming up for air. You're doing it.” She dug through the bag, looking for a non-purple pencil. “How about this one?”

“Marci...” Terry trailed off, then started again. “That's bright pink.”


“Well, for one, I don't wear pink. And for two, we want this to be sorta actually intimidating, right?”

“Fine, fine, be that way. No pink.” Marci sighed and looked up at the spattering of treetops high above their heads. Sunlight filtered between the branches and reflected off the interconnected pools of water that surrounded them. She brushed her black hair out of her face and looked back down at him. “So what should we use then?”

“I don't know! This wasn't my idea.”

“Yes it was.”

“The red sheet on a string was my idea. And it worked, too. It's kept them off, hasn't it?” Terry watched suspiciously as she started digging through the bag again.

“And now they've sent in a bounty hunter to kill the red sheet. You know what happens if he kills the red sheet?”

“I don't get shot?”

“No, then they figure out that there never was a phantom, and move ahead with the whole thing, and then we all get shot.” She pulled a lemon yellow pencil out of the bag and began examining it.

“And if he shoots me, that happens anyway.”

“Come on, you can dodge anything!”

“When was the last time you saw me do a bullet?”

She paused, pencil in hand. “Well, ok, you can dodge most of anything. Still a better chance then the red sheet.” Back in the bag went the yellow pencil.

“Fine, fine. So I have to be the phantom. I have come to terms with this. Getting shot now vs getting shot later, what's the difference?”

“That's the spirit!” she said enthusiastically. “Let's see... You'll be wearing red to match the red sheet, so...” She pulled a pencil out again and waved it in the air triumphantly. “Red! Hurrah!”

“Fine. Red. I can deal with red. It'll match the blood when I get shot.”

“Ooh, now there's an idea!” She smiled, making him intensely nervous.

“What, shooting me?”

“No, silly, blood! We do the whole thing in the color of blood!”

“That's slightly morbid...” he said hesitantly.

“You're a phantom, for crying out loud. Phantoms are not particularly happy people. Morbid is what they do.”

“I thought random terror was what they did.”

“Morbid and random terror go hand in hand,” she offered. “Maybe we could make you some sort of corpse with blood all over.”

“Can we please not do blood? Or corpses?”

“Fine. We'll just do the whole cursed-phantom thing that we've been going with since we started the red sheet.”

“Thank you.”

“You're very welcome. Now hold still and I might not poke your eye out.” She put the pencil to his face and started drawing.

“Are you sure...”

“No talking!” she interrupted. “Hold still. And yes, I'm sure you have to be the phantom. I'm also sure of what I'm doing, sure of the fact that it has to be done now, and sure that you'll be fine. If all goes well, he won't even get to see all my hard work. Pity.”

He sat helplessly silent as she drew spirals on his face.

“Hmm... You think I should go with more of a tribal curse thing or an elegant curse thing? Don't answer that. On second thought, hold up one finger for tribal curse and two for elegant curse. How would I even do an elegant curse, I wonder... Wait, I know! Ok, nevermind. We're going with elegant curse. I think I'll only do one side of your face. That'll make you seem only slightly cursed, and if you're part human, he might be less likely to blow your brains out. Not that I'm saying that that'll happen, of course, but if it does, we want to be prepared, right? Right!” She sat back and looked at her work for a moment while he tried not to move. “That should do it.”

He sighed. “I'm assuming I can talk now?”

“Wait, no, it needs something. Stay there for a second.” She leapt to her feet and sprinted up the trail, over and under the huge clumps of roots and around the sharp turns without slowing down. He sighed and looked at his reflection in a pool of water. His white hair framed his pale face, making the red-brown spirals and dots stand out even more. His green eyes sparkled with electric reflections as he made a few faces, just to see what it would look like. Not particularly scary, but then, she'd said she wasn't done.

“Terry!” She sprinted back down the trail, panic in her brown eyes. “They're here!”

“Who?” he asked cautiously.

“Them! The outsiders! They're headed this way!”

“You mean the bounty hunter?”

“No, no, not him, the scouts! The surveyors!”

“We've gotta set up the red sheet,” he stated. “We'll just have to hope we can do it in time.”

“There is no time! Besides, we never set up a wire along here! You'll have to go!”

“What? Me? I can't!”

“You have to! Whatever happened to coming to terms with this?”

“But I'm not ready!”

“You're ready enough, just stay far away enough that they can't see details. They're almost here!”

“I'm wearing green!”

That stopped her for half a second. Then she pulled the sheet from her backpack and practically threw it at him. “Wear this!”

“What? How?”

“As a cloak!” She grabbed it from him, threw it over his head and pulled it around his neck, tying it in a tight knot. “Now get over there!”

“Hey, I thought I heard voices!” came a shout from a ways down the trail.

“Go!” said Marci in a whisper one last desperate time before she leapt into the pool. He knew she'd surface some thirty feet away, safe in a clump of roots.

“Fine.” He some of the slack of the red sheet over his head like a hood and started climbing the nearest tree. From a branch high above, he could see the trail until it twirled around a pool of water and disappeared behind one of the ridges in the landscape. Three men made their way along the winding path. He gulped. All three carried rifles.

Terry made his way carefully from tree to tree until he was close enough to hear what they said.

“Oh, look, a root! Scary root, scaaaary!” Guy number one pulled back in mock horror.

“Ha hah, very funny.” Guy number two was not amused.

“Oh no, a tree! It must be a phantom tree! Fear the phantom tree!” Guy number three followed number one's example.

“No seriously, you guys are hilarious.” Still not amused.

“How will we ever survive the attack of the phantom tree? We're doomed!”

“Ok, ok, you've had your fun. Can you please let it drop now?”

“No. But seriously, you need to relax. There is no phantom.” Number one grinned. “A flying red ghost? Please.”

“Hey, there have been seventeen reports of this thing. Seventeen. Not to mention the equipment malfunctions...”

“It breaks just as much on a normal basis. You know that just as well as we do,” Three added.

“I'm telling you, there's something seriously wrong with this place. Never mind the secrecy, the weird shipments, the executive directors dropping by every three days; there's something here. In the forest.”

“What, the phantom tree?”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“Look, we'll make a deal,” said One. “If we see the phantom, then fine, he's real. Flying red ghost all the way. But if we don't see him today, than he's not real. People are making stuff up. And then you promise to stop freaking out, ok?”


“Here goes nothing...” Terry did a front flip out of the tree and landed about forty feet in front of them, red cloak billowing around him. He hoped they'd see him.

They did. One and Three simply stared, while Two backed away saying, “Oh no, we're gonna die, we're gonna die...”

Terry slowly raised his left arm and pointed straight at them, wordless.

“Calm down, man, we don't know if this is the phantom or not. He's not flying. He's just standing there.” Three was trying to save face.

If it was flying they wanted, it was flying they would get. Terry burst into a leaping run, taking in nearly ten feet to a stride.

“He's flying! He's flying!” Two turned and did a pretty good imitation of flying himself, flying back down the trail. One and Three, forgetting their mockery for a moment, followed him at a slightly lower altitude. All three were screaming.

Terry followed them for about a quarter mile before he stopped. He watched them flee over a ridge, waited a moment, then turned back. He wasn't dead yet. That was generally a good sign.

“Told you it would work.” Marci poked her wet head out from behind a tree as he passed by. “That was so much better than the red sheet.”

“I still don't like it,” he muttered.

“Neither did they.” She smiled a smile that made him nervous. “The red cloak thing is clearly something we need to keep, and we'll keep working on your curse. I don't think the green will go over so well, though. That needs to be red too, I think.”

He sighed. “I can deal with red.”

I wrote this the other day, so I thought I'd post it. Critique please!
And yes, there will probably be more. Wheee.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Spammers vs Me with a flaming death spatula: Who will win?

Well, recently I've become an administrator of a not-too-active forum. My job: delete spam posts. How long my job takes: way too long. Like, half an hour whenever I go to the board. Given that there's like, three regular posts vs the forty or so spam posts, it's a bit frustrating. It's more frustrating for the people who don't have the magical flaming death spatula of admin power with which to delete these posts, but still, it's annoying. So please, if you know someone who spams, hit them with a spatula for me. Hit them hard, and several times. Feel free to upgrade your spatula to a tenderizing mallet, or perhaps a whole microwave if they're the kind that just puts links to dubious medicines in their posts. You'll be making the world a better place.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Free Verse

This is not a poem.

Free Verse,

which is prose,

is what this is.

This has no rhyme.

This has no meter.

How could this be


It's not.

And if you think it is,

Prove it.

I don't believe you.

This is but

Broken Fragments

Strung along a page,

ink on paper,

hardly even there.

This is not a poem.

Poems ebb

and flow like water

from the mountains to the sea.

This halts,

stopping and starting,

like a butterfly among flowers.

But, of course,

it's not like that,

because that would be poetic.

This isn't.

This is not a poem.

Poetry rhymes

and sounds complete

because it is.

But this

sounds broken


like a puzzle with half the pieces missing

but, of course,

it's not like that,

because that would be poetic.

This isn't.

This is not a poem.

Poetry has stanzas,

meter, clear devisions

things to make it

make sense.

All this has

is broken thoughts


like a great cloud blown by the wind.

But, of course,

it's not like that,

because that would be poetic.

This isn't.

This is not a poem.

Don't tell me that it is.

I don't believe you.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007


So I've started getting college spam. Lots and lots of college spam. You know, the "more emails in a day than you've gotten in your entire life until now" kind of spam.
I think it's because of my SAT score... That would explain Stanford, MIT, and Westminister, anyway. But I got this one from Switzerland. They told me that we live in an increasingly global world, which makes sense until you think about it. And then they told me that I should go to Switzerland and attend college there. Also, Switzerland is apparently the gateway to Europe. I thought the airport was the gateway, but hey, that's just me.

Sunday, February 04, 2007


"Hey, it's not that bad. When I first got here, I almost got eaten by cripes," said Reed with a shrug.
"You keep talking about cripes, and yet you still refuse to explain what they are," complained David, keeping a wary eye on Luxor as she fired up a welding torch.
"What sort of questions do you have about them?"
"Well, for starters, what are they?"
"We're pretty sure they're reptiles, but they move too fast for us to tell definatively."
"How fast can they go?"
"Faster than anything Luxor's invented thus far. Which would make it...." He counted on his fingers for a moment. "About the speed of sound."
David sat in stunned silence for a moment. "You're kidding."
"Nope. They're really, really fast."
"And they eat people?"
"They eat anything. Well, anything that wanders into their territory. We marked the danger zone a while back."
"So how'd you get away?"
"We're talking about cripes, not me. Any other questions?"
"Yeah... Why'd you call them cripes?"
"It's the least offensive thing anyone's ever said upon encountering one."
"Ah." David pondered that for a minute. "What do they look like?"
"Blurs. Deadly ones."
"Any way to tell if one's coming?"
"If your arm is suddenly missing, there's one nearby."
David winced. "So I should avoid those then?"
"Probably," Reed admitted with a casual shrug, then gestured towards Luxor. "Weren't you keeping an eye on her?"
Luxor casually tossed another stick of dynamite onto the pile of scrap metal and explosives, then lit the welding torch again. "Blastoff in five, four, three...."
Reed ducked under the table. "You should probably hide."
David didn't argue.

Saturday, February 03, 2007


So I might have won the DPC. Or I might have lost. I'm not entirely sure. If Dana got disqualified for not posting on the twenty third, I won. If he didn't, I lost. And he didn't post on the twenty third, but he says that was a computer problem. Oh well. I don't particularly care anyway.
In other news, markers are awesome. As is LaserQuest, where I get to go today!

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Joker Jeopardy

So the Joker was on Jeopardy tonight. I don't know if he won or not, but he was there. He had the suit and everything. I'm suprised Alex didn't ask him, "So, how are you planning to destroy Batman?"

Yeeeah. I need better ideas.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

The bookshelf near my computer has a lot of weird books. Some aren't so weird, some are classics, but some are downright bizarre. Example: "Parcifal Rides the Time Wave." A touching story about some sort of strange fairy-thing in a combat helmet and nightgown who convinces a little boy to live with one of the weirdest titles ever. Another example: "Danny Dunn and the Anti-gravity Paint." I'm not even gonna try to explain that one. Oh, and let's not forget "Hunny Bunch: Her First Big Adventure." It's about two hundred pages long, which makes it's title a little out of place. But anyway, they're weird. I should re-read them sometime.

Monday, January 29, 2007

What blowtorch?

"What on earth are you doing?"
"Um... Nothing." She tired to hide whatever it was behind her back. "Absolutely nothing. Bored out of my mind here."
"For some strange reason, I don't believe you. Why are you wearing a welding mask?"
"It's a fashon statement. It says 'I could be a serial killer and you'd never even know it.' I think that's an area seriously ignored in the world of high fashon."
"Again, I don't believe you."
"And again, I don't see why."
"Really. Because I could have sworn you were building something."
"Nope. You really think I'd try that after what happened last time?"
A moments pause ensued. "True. But still, those firefighters would be mad if that happened again."
"So why are you doing it again?"
"I'm not!"
"Then why are you holding a blowtorch?"
"What blowtorch?"
"The one in your hand."
"Um... Oh, this blowtorch. No reason."
"For the third time today, I don't believe you."
"Saw that coming," she mumbled.
"So what are you doing with the blowtorch?"
"Um... Most certainly not building a flying racecar."
"You're building a flying racecar?!"
"No.... maybe."
"May I ask why?"
"May I ask why not?"
"Do I really have to answer that?"
"If I have to answer you, you have to answer me."
"Why am I even having this conversation..."
"You know, you really shouldn't hit your head on the wall like that. It can't be good for you."

Again, I just randomly started typing a story, and this is what I got. Enjoy, and then give suggestions. Or else.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Congratulations, you're dead.

Now that I think about it, I was asking for it. Still, it was the strangest fatal shooting I've ever experienced. Pretty much the only one, actually.
Perhaps I should explain. I was going home from work, just I do every day, and I had to go through an alleyway to get to my car. It was a dark, damp one, the exact kind where you're just waiting to get mugged.
"Don't move," came the voice from behind me. "Put your hands on your head." The barrel of a gun pressed into my back.
"Alright, alright, just don't shoot." I was a little alarmed. Can you blame me?"
"Hand over your money."
I obeyed without question, pulling my wallet out and holding it behind me. A gloved hand snatched it from mine. Then another grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face my attacker.
"Goodbye," the masked woman snarled, pressing the gun to my forehead. I closed my eyes, waiting for the shot. I could almost feel her finger on the trigger, waiting for the exact moment to pull it.
So I was a little suprised when she shot me with a water gun.
"Congratulations. You're dead."
"I'm serious. You're dead. Here." She handed me a folder filled with papers. "Body found in an alleyway near 6th and Mullberry, all valuables missing. Give that to the police." She pulled out a purple marker and started drawing a circle on my forehead. "Shot once through the head with a small caliber gun. Witnesses report hearing a shot around...." She checked her watch. "6:13 PM."
"Um...." I tried to think of something to say. "Why?"
"I'm not telling you my motive so you can't tell the police. Remember, you're dead. Dead people don't tell the police who shot them."
"Can I have my wallet back?"
"Oh, sure. Just remember, give that folder to the police as soon as possible." She handed me my wallet. "Or I'll just keep killing people." The water gun came to my forehead again. "Like you."

It's late, I'm tired, and I had a story in my head, so I typed it out, and here you go. Enjoy.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Story Excerpt 1

Jared fell, tripping over a root. A moment later, he lay upon the ground holding his head and pondering why on earth trees hurt so much. He glanced up at the source of his injury, and decided to name it.

“Hello, Bill the Evil Tree.” It didn't answer. “You seem to have given me a severe headache, Bill. Care to explain why?”

Bill the Evil Tree shook in the wind, dumping about 8 inches of snow on him.

“Thank you, Bill. I've always wanted to be a snowman.” He stood up, brushing himself off. Then he noticed something square nailed to Bill the Evil Tree. “Bill, you seem to have a painting stuck to you.”

Bill dumped three more inches on him.

“Why do you hate me?” He felt the wind picking up again. “Don't answer that.” He pondered the painting for a moment more. A table and a few chairs in a simple stone room. Why on earth was it nailed to a tree in the middle of nowhere?

He reached out to touch it on impulse.

His hand went through.

For once in his life, Jared was completely and totally speechless.

Hurrah! It's a random bit of a story! The story it's from is called "Paint" and this is somewhere in the middle. I enjoyed writing this bit, so I hope you enjoy reading it.

Friday, January 26, 2007


Since it's almost midnight, I decided to post some riddles. I'll post the answers later, if anyone can't guess.

What fills the night and every room till a window is opened to chase out the gloom?

I wind my way through hills and plains
and go as do the falling rains
the mountains high are where I start
Where I am born from winters heart
And all the world knows where I go
through valley wide to ocean low
What Am I?

The light I bring is rivaled not
by stars, by moon, by earth
and by me have the ancients sought
the measure of their worth
I shine by day, I sleep by night
Though clouds may hide my face
Naught shall disturb my ancient flight
Above the sky in blackest space
What Am I?

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Look, fire!

"This might be bad."
"What? Why?"
"Well, the camp is on fire..."
"And there's a gigantic something that wants to eat us in the forest..."
"Another good point."
"And all the food is burning with the camp..."
"Your hair is on fire."
"Oh, right. And my hair is on fire."
"Might wanna do something about that."
"Wait, my hair is on fire?"
"Augh! It burns! It burns! Put it out!"
"Looks like it's going out on it's own."
"Actually, that was me, beating myself on the head."
"Right. So what were you saying?"
"I was saying that we're probably going to die."
"So why did it matter that your hair was on fire?"
"Because pain hurts. Now what will we do about finding shelter?"
"We could live in trees."
"If things that wanted to eat us weren't already occupying the trees."
"We could dig a big hole in the ground and live in that."
"If we had a shovel, which we don't, because it burned."
"We could find a cave."
"Get eaten by bats. Wonderful idea!"
"Well, excuse me Captain Negative."

I tried to write a serious blog post, but it didn't work out. So I let my brain talk to itself and this is what I got. Enjoy! Or at the very least, don't take seriously.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Random poem

Because I can barely not fall asleep on my keyboard, here's a random poem!

Tell me why

Tell me why

Do we live beneath the sky

Envying the birds that fly

And we hope

And we wish

That our joy could be like this

But the birds

Do they see

Those down here like you and me

And then wish that they could be

Here in our reality?

Do they long

Do they cry

To leave life up in the sky

And join us in lonely sighs

As we stare up asking why?

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Weird dream

I had a really weird dream last night. It was about a world where people raced highlighters, like, giant flying ones. And I was a highlighter racer, and so were a bunch of other people, including (as I will call them) angry guy, repeatitive french guy, evil guy, and sarcastic guy. Angry guy was on my side, French, Evil, and Sarcastic weren't.
So basically I was trying to win the highlighter racing championship, and Angry guy was on my team, along with some other people. He was very angry, but he was nice none the less. But another team was after the prize (which was very important, though I can't remember what it was now) and they weren't going to let us win. So of course, they cheated. It wasn't cartoon cheating, it was remove-the-fuel-so-they-crash cheating. So some of the people on my team died. In fact, a lot of them died, until only me and Angry guy were left. And of course, manager dude, but he doesn't count cause all he did was freak out.
So we were in the finals, and manager dude was freaking out and angry guy was yelling at him, and the three bad guys that I remember came up and started talking to us. They told us that they'd rigged the stadium to blow up so we'd better lose. Angry guy was angry about this, and manager dude freaked out, and then the race started. Unfortunately for them, they messed up on sabotaging our highlighters, and sabotaged their own. So they were flying in odd little circles and hops and it was pretty funny, cause Sarcastic and Evil managed to land, but French was still in the air. Sarcastic said something about "Well this turned out well" and Evil said something nasty and then French said, and I quote, "Ze place, Ze place, et will blow!" So then they were freaking out and somehow angry guy had somehow saved all the people in the stadium, and then they crashed and the bomb blew up but nothing bad happened. So then we were trying to finish the race and we were almost to the finish line (the race was still important cause sarcastic and evil guy didn't crash) and I woke up.
I'm pretty sure angry guy won, though.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Things that you probably shouldn't try.

Anyone who's been around me for more than five minutes probably knows that I have a history of not so good ideas, such as playing with electricity and knitting needles, or setting my hair on fire. So over time, I've begun to compile a list of things that you probably shouldn't try, mainly because they involve pain or other less-than-ideal circumstances. Here's a few of them.

Don't shoot a water rocket off beneath power lines.

Never walk into a head-height electric fence.

Don't apply nail polish to your elbows.

Don't eat straight hoisen sauce.

Never eat a quarter.

Sandpaper is not intended for use on skin.

Don't burn pencils.

Lip gloss and lego people are not a good combination.

Nail polish remover melts Barbies.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Brian's going nuts.

So my brother posted an article on his blog today about how to rip dvds with VLC, whatever that means. And then tonight he was on and realized that his article was on the front page. So now he's a little edgy, and by edgy I mean getting up, pacing, going back to his computer, doing something, and doing that all over again. And again. And again.
I don't really understand what is, but apparently the front page is the internet equivlant of a major newspaper. Unfortunately, his site went down because of all the traffic, so now he's edgy about that too. But anyway, apparently this is cool, and you should all go see it when his site is back up. Or when he calms down. Either way works.

Saturday, January 20, 2007



Space station 3's lone inhabitant stared bleakly as the red numbers flashed in the dark room. A cruel beep echoed off the metal walls, and a unnecessarily cheery voice announced, “Five minutes until detonation. Please evacuate now.” The girl glanced unbelieving at the speaker mounted in the ceiling, and shook her head.

Silently, the small box mounted on her belt flashed to life. A figure emerged from the beams of light it emanated. Tall and handsome, the young man sat down next to her, leaning against a pillar that cast an eerie shadow on the floor.

“No luck?” she asked quietly, hardly even looking at him.

“None. This place is as tight as they come. No way out, the shuttles are gone. I tried disabling the bomb, too, but... No override.”

She looked at the hard, floor beneath them. “Ah well,” she said quietly. “At least we got everyone else out safely. This could have been a disaster.”

“It still is.” She looked at him, trying to read what he meant in his face. He hid his eyes behind his black bangs, a tear running down his cheek. “I'm losing you. Isn't that a disaster?”


“I'm losing you too,” she said sadly. “The explosion will kill us both.” The girl started crying quietly, tears flowing freely from her hazel eyes. Her companion moved to hold her, knowing his touch would console him just as much as it would her. His hand dissolved as it touched her skin, just as it always did. She glanced down as he pulled it back and it reformed. She gave a small, sad smile. “Heh. Even in our last moments the rules don't change.”

“Eternally together...” he began, hoping for a response.

“Eternally apart,” she said softly.

Silence reigned.


The computerized beep once again resounded through the empty hallways, filling the stillness for only a second before the echo faded away.

“Do you think...” Her voice braved the silence, heavy with sadness. “that once we cross over, we can touch?”

He looked up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers. “That would be nice.” A smile formed on his face.

“But do you think it'll happen?”

“I don't know.” His attention returned to the floor. “But... If we can...”

She smiled, understanding. “I know. I wish for it just as much as you do.”

They looked each other in the eyes for a moment, still crying but smiling all the same.


“You know... all this time we've been together, I've wanted to tell you something.” He blushed in the dim light as he spoke, looking away a little.. “Now is the best chance I'll get, I suppose.”

“Me too.” She scooted as close as she could without dematerializing him. “You first.”

“I...” he struggled to find words. Why? He had waited, longed, torn his heart apart to say these words, and now he couldn't. “I... love you.”

The air in the station hung heavy as he waited for her response.

“Me too. I mean... I love you too."


The cheery voice interrupted them again. “One minute until detonation. Evacuate immediately. Have a nice day!”

They laughed, the sad mood lifted.


She looked at him, laughter still dancing in her eyes. “It's such a wonderful feeling, isn't it?”



“You know what?”



“I think we will be able to touch.”


“Of course we will.”


Hey all! It's late, and I couldn't think of anything to rant about, so here's a random story that I wrote a long time ago! It's on my old blog too, but I still like it.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Cane of Pacci

So a few days ago I was playing a game called "Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap." It's a good game. You should play it, if you're looking for the kill-things-with-a-pointy-stick Zelda experience without the countless hours of "Augh I can't find the power bracelets" dungeon-puzzle madness. But anyway, it's got this one item in it called "the Cane of Pacci," which is a perfectly respectable name for a video game item. What this item does is turn things upside down. That's all. It's an essential item to have, but still, it sounds pretty useless, doesn't it?
What got me thinking, though, is the "Pacci" bit. Who exactly was Pacci, and what did he do to deserve having a stick that turns stuff upside down named after him? Did he invent it? If so, why?
What was so essential about turning stuff upside down? I mean, if it's just named after him, he had to be some sort of nutcase. Did he randomly turn things upside down, just for fun? Did he walk on his hands consistantly? I know these kinds of questions are extremely pointless, but I still wonder.
Of course, this kind of questioning brings up all sorts of odd questions about that game. Like, why did the mayor build his cabin in the middle of a lake that you have to dig through a series of caves to access? Or if Vaati (the bad guy) had the magical wish-granting hat, why didn't he just use that to take over the world? And of course, what happens when Ezlo eats something? (He's Link's hat, by the way. The physical details of how he got that way both puzzle and disturb me.)
I'll never know the answers to any of this, but it's still fun to think about.

Thursday, January 18, 2007


I am very tired
so I will write in haiku.
Haiku's Japanese.

That assumes, of course,
you don't know what haiku is.
It's a poem type.

Count the syllables.
They should be five seven five.
If they're not, it's wrong.

I annoy people
by speaking this way sometimes.
They send me death threats.

These haiku do not
have traditional subjects.
Most speak of nature.

In the intrests of
maintaining a semblance of
tradition, here's one.

"Gentle floating clouds
descend to earth so softly;
no one expects fog."

There, are you happy?
I've written a real haiku.
Now I'll go to bed.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

M-Azing odd candy bars.

Ok, so what's up with those candy bars? You know, the "M-Azing" ones. What exactly is the point of putting chocolate candy in a chocolate bar? You get the exact same thing, only slightly crunchier. Chocolate + chocolate = chocolate, if I'm not mistaken. So instead of buying a cheap only-chocolate bar, you can buy a more expensive candy that's made out of the exact same thing! Amazing! I think I'll go buy one right now!

Or I could go to bed. I think I'll do that.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Random Supervillian Story

Tomorrow we're going to Arkansas after school. Fun, huh? We're going to visitors day at JBU, also known as John Brown University. So I won't be posting for a while. So to tide you over while I'm not here to annoy you with rants about punctuation marks, here's an unfinished story that I started during finals.

You think it's easy being the villain? Well, I'm telling you, it's anything but. You do just as much work as the hero, running around gathering minions, robbing banks, even building death rays, but everyone hates you anyway. And I should know.

Oh, I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Andrea Smith, but most people know me better as Thorn. I'm one of those over-dramatic psychos who regularly gets beat up by a “defender of justice” just as psychotic and dramatic as myself while you all cheer. For him, not me. Him, generally speaking, is a guy in a white cape and mask who talks like he's just gotten his degree from overused-dramatic-cliche university. He calls himself Climax. I call him Oedipus, because he doesn't know what it means but it's plenty insulting anyway, if you know your Greek tragedies. I don't think he knows what his own name means, but I digress. Climax is a thoroughly annoying person. I remember one time when he was particularly bad. I'd kidnapped the mayor and was holding him for ransom in one of those standard variety abandoned warehouses. Of course, I'd left a note for the police, so I was expecting someone. Now, in my mind, there's nothing particularly wrong with ransoming a corrupt government official, right? It's just a little bit off the top from those bribes they get on a regular basis. Well, Oedipus doesn't exactly share my opinion. For some reason, he acted like I'd just dropped the atomic bomb on a box of puppies. Puppies are almost as annoying as he is, what with the fuzziness and the yapping and the big eyes. Give me a giant squid any day. Now that's cute. But I digress.

Climax came bursting through the skylight in full-blown dramatic pose mode and said, I kid you not, “Ah-ha! So we meet again, you villainous vixen! I have discovered your dastardly plot, so release the mayor now, and maybe I won't have to hurt you.” Of course, he struck about seven different dramatic poses while he spoke, so any hope he had of seeming like a serious threat was lost.

How he really thought that discovering my “dastardly plot” was impressive is beyond me. I mean, I gave the police the address to drop of the money at, although I was keeping the mayor somewhere else, and it's no great thing to follow a robot that's been sent to pick up the money. Good thing I had it put the money somewhere else before leading Oedipus to the warehouse. But I digress.

I asked him how his mother was. If you know your Greek tragedies, this would be a terribly insulting thing to ask someone who you call Oedipus. Unfortunately, he doesn't know, so it was wasted. In any case, it confused him quite a bit, but he promptly recovered and responded with one of his famous witty comebacks.

“Keep my mother out of this, you dastardly diva! Release the mayor now!” Three more poses accompanied his statement. If I was being nice, I'd say I didn't see that coming, but that would make me a lier.

I considered telling him to make me. Past experience and common sense told me that this might be a bad idea, so I decided just to get it over with. I went with the standard villain, “Nevah! Muahahahaha!” Of course, that was the end of the “witty” banter (note the quotation marks) and we commenced with the fighting. He won, I escaped, the mayor was free to go accept bribes and trod upon the poor, and the day was saved. I did get away with a few hundred thousand, so it wasn't a total loss.

Anyway, he's annoying when he's being a super-zero. But, it's much better than when he's not. Normally he's one of my co-workers.

Oh, right, I've forgotten to tell you. I work as a sketch artist for a newspaper, when I'm not endangering lives, of course. It's not the best job in the world, but hey, it provides it's share of alibis. Unfortunately, there's the little matter of Climax, aka Terrence Mason. He works there too, as a journalist. He's pretty bad at it though. Apparently journalism is a prerequisite for superheroism. Anyway, he writes fairly biased accounts of our battles, and I am generally called upon to illustrate them, given that I've taken great care never to be captured on film. I often use this opportunity to balance the bias of the article, so it's not so bad in that respect. I like to get little details of his costume wrong and watch him struggle not to tell me for fear of giving himself away, like making his logo pink instead of orange. It gives him a feminine touch, in my opinion, but I digress.

The problem isn't really that I have to work with him. The problem is that he likes me.

And that's all there is, folks. Tune in next time for me being back!
Suggestions, especially those for a title, would be appreciated.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

More random quotes!

Hey, it's past ten and I don't have anything I really feel like posting about. So, here's some random quotes. Some have context, some don't. I'm not discriminating.

“I think vaporization would be appropriate, don't you?”

“At least we know the engine hasn't fallen out!”

“It's good to see you too, but why are you taped to the ceiling?”

And finally:

“Prepare for your sock-filled doom!”
“See, that's the reason we don't let her stay up this late.”

Monday, January 08, 2007

Bubble Dragons

No dragon wants to be a bubble dragon. In fact, any dragon, no matter how evil or merciless, will go far out of their way to express just how glad they are not to be a bubble dragon. It's not like being a miffic, as they prefer to be called, is all that bad. They have plenty of food, and there's plenty of places for them to nest, and more than enough entertainment, as they are very small (for dragons) and enjoy messing with humans. And no creature wouldn't envy their irridescent blue scales and transparent, gauze-like wings that seem more than a cape than anything, and their brilliant green eyes can often be seen peering out from treasure chests or vaults of gold pieces. They can even teleport. But the thing that makes dragons want desperately not to be a miffic is not the size, not the comparative weakness or even the inability to devour humans whole. It's the fact that instead of breathing fire, bubble dragons breath bubbles, and no self respecting dragon would ever be happy with that.

Sunday, January 07, 2007


So today I was thinking about posting on my blog. Ok, so I wasn't really thinking about posting, I was more thinking about seeing if I have any new comments. Same difference. Anyway, I was trying (in vain) to find semi-convenient link to it, and it occured to me: "Hey, it's a website! I can just type in the URL!"

Of course, fate spotted me doing this and said: "Oh, you think it's gonna be easy or something? Well, I've got one little word for you: PWN'D!" And then it proceeded to frustrate me to the point where I felt like chucking my keyboard through my monitor. I could not type the web adress right! It was like "theartofobervation" or "thartorvation" and even when I finally got "theartofobservation" it STILL wasn't right!

And then I remembered those little henchmen of fate. That's right, Hyphens. I know I was the one that put them in that web adress in the first place, but I obviously wasn't thinking straight at the time. I was probably thinking "Hmm, how can I frustrate myself and others in the future? Let's put hyphens in the... Ooh, tv."

But I now propose that all websites that allow hyphens in the name put a warning label next to the "What do you want the web adress to be" box. It would go a little something like
"Hey you! Yeah, you! You with the bright ideas about putting hyphens in the name to make sure everyone understands the spacing of the words! Guess what? You don't need them! In fact, you negatively need them, in that they'll spend the rest of their days taunting you with their hard-to-type-correctly little lineness! And yes, that is a word! It's a word because I said so! So don't put hypens in your URL!"

This kind of warning could drastically decrease the rate of hyphen-induced keyboard/monitor double murders, which plauge my brain today. Also, it could make me feel dumber than I already do for putting those stupid hyphens in the name. Oh well.

I didn't have any new comments anyway...

Saturday, January 06, 2007

My brain is weird

Has this ever happened to you? You're just sitting there, doing something completely unrelated, when your brain comes up with an absolutely random quote. And of course, it makes you say/type it, and then people are all "What?" and you have to explain. But you can't explain, because you can't remember for the life of you what you were thinking about when your brain said that, so you're stuck with this entirely random line, or even a short piece of dialouge, and you can't forget it.
That happens to me all the time. So now I've decided to post a couple of my favorites, and if any more come up that I happen to really like, I'll post those too.

“What are you doing?”
“You're hiding behind a bush with a garden hose because of science?”
“Yes. Now go away before you blow my cover.”

“Conclusion: Water does not actually melt witches. Wizard of Oz was wrong. Next experiment: falling houses.”

“I can tell you've never been slapped upside the head with a 400 page coloring book.”

“If box growls, DO NOT OPEN.

Aaand that's it for now! Tune in next time for me ranting about something else, and maybe more quotes!

Friday, January 05, 2007

Very Suspicious Hats

I really need to start remembering to post before eleven at night. This whole "Oh, look, it's almost tomorrow" system isn't working out so well.

Anyhoo, I was thinking about suspiciousness. Like, what makes someone seem suspicious? Squinty eyes? Furtive movements? Ketchup-and-cheese sandwiches? Well, I was thinking about it, and thanks to a story that I'm pretty sure I can't post until it's been judged, I've decided that hats are a deciding factor in suspiciousness. Yes, I'm serious.

Let me prove it to you. Think of a generic suspicious person. Now think of what that generic suspicious person is wearing. There's a hat in there, right? Now think of your suspect without the hat. Unless they have very suspicious hair, of which I cannot think of an example, a good bit of the suspiciousness is lost.

So, now that we've established that hats can enhance suspiciousness considerably, are there any hats that are more suspicious than others? Like, a wide brimmed hat, other than something along the lines of a pink sombrero, will be very suspicious because it hides most of the suspects face. A mickey mouse hat? Not so much. In fact, that kinda detracts from the suspiciousness. Would you arrest someone in a mickey mouse hat? No. You'd stare at them, and maybe snicker, but you wouldn't arrest them, unless you're a member of the fashon police.

Given that I've spent several hours watching crime shows over the past few weeks, I'd call this topic researched, in a very loose sense of the word. And my quote-on-quote research proves my point. About seventy-five percent of the suspects eventually arrested were wearing a hat (and generally sunglasses) at some point during the show, and maybe half of those at the time of their arrest. I do know that crime shows don't show actual statistics, but they do show people's perspective of what makes people suspicious. And from what I see, hats are a big part of it.

Anyone else got an opinion on this?

Thursday, January 04, 2007

I hate colds.

As you may have inferred from the title, I have a cold. As you also may have inferred from the title, I'm not exactly enjoying it. What with the inability to breath, and the no sense of balance, and the coughing, I'm kinda miserable. And now I can't take art class. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to do it next year.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

The Daily Post Challange!

Ok, so I've entered this thing called the "daily post challange." If I win, I get twenty five bucks, but I need things to post about. So, feel free to ask random questions and I will answer them in the most truthful/random way I can.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Random Sonnet!

I wrote a random sonnet! For a poetry contest! Hurrah! It doesn't have a title, though.

A name that to the world inspires fear
A name as grandiose as sky above
A name so soft to wipe away a tear
A name as coolly elegant as love
And once upon a time I had this name
That once upon a time was all I knew
But it was sold through magic's cruel game
And then my once upon a time was through
So now my fate's decreed, this wandering
From world to world and town to town I go
And while I travel I've been pondering
How do I find this name I used to know?
And only this name ever will suit me
And when I have my name I will be free.

Monday, January 01, 2007

Happy New Year!

Happy 2007, everybody!

2007 is definitely a good name for a year. It just is.