The Media Needs to Start Fresh, With Garlic and Herbs

This year it seems that the big target of mass hatred is the media. At this point the unanimous conclusion seems to be that the American media is a load of horse shit that isn't doing it's job. Most people turn to Jon Stewart or the blogosphere or anything that isn't a major news organization for their information. They're tired of the bullshit, tired of hearing about Ashton Kutcher when major historical events are in progress. It hit a fever pitch with the Rally to Restore Sanity and then the emergence of Wikileaks.

There have been a lot of suggestions on how to correct this situation. Jay Rosen said that the "watchdog press is dead" and a lot of people would like to see the media return to the days of serious investigative journalism. Currently major media outlets pretty much do as the government tells them. I'm certain if Bradley Manning had sent the war logs to CNN they'd have ignored it to avoid trouble or worse, reported him.

But I don't think that these companies need to look at legendary figures of the old press to figure out what they need to do. There is already a company that has dealt with these type of smear campaigns by running into them head on. They need to take the cardboard crust and bad ingredients of their journalism practices and startover fresh, with garlic. They need to pull a Dominos.



They need to just come out say it, we've been feeding you horse shit with ketchup flavored sauce for years, and we want to change. First major media outlet to do that gets my respect.

GO!

Tis The Season To Kill Zombies. Fa la la la la, la la la la.

It's good to be home finally. I got back in the county on Monday and I was shocked to learn that today is apparently Saturday. If you were to ask me what I've been up to this week, I'd probably just let out a long "uhhhhhhhhhhh". I guess I need to set up some goal/projects to keep my unemployed/vacationing self busy for 4 more weeks.

Something other than Minecraft.

Yup, that's David Tennant in leather battle armor
and a diamond pick axe.

I guess I could try and write a blog post every day. Oh god damn it, that looks like a goal I'll fail catastrophically at that I just typed. DAMN YOU STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS! 

Well now it's published on the internet, guess I got to do it. Lame.

Lo, thy asswipe hath runneth dry

This is just a general heads up to any Alfred University students who maybe considering living in the suites at any point, and want to know what is like, let me sum it up.

You'll have an RA. Your RA is being paid one of the highest salaries available to students on campus. Their job? To dole out the asswipe ladies and gentleman. Literally their whole job, right there. To unlock the vault of the most sacred roles of ass wiping goodness. Yet, whenever these services are needed, they won't be there, ever. If you live  in a suite, once a week you'll hear one of your suitemates cry out to the heavens in despair. This familiar cry will tell you all you need the know, thy asswipe hath runneth dry. You'll run to your RA, and they will not be there, ever. I mean that, not once. You go back and tell the damning report to your comrade. Naturally he/she is not in a position to take no for an answer. So you will run to the public bathroom and loot it for all it has. This temporary solution has saved your comrade from a most unwearable pair of briefs. Every week you'll see signs going up telling you to stop stealing asswipe from the public restroom. It is ignored because when you got a man in there who is at the psychological breaking point, there is no other option. Though 1 out of 3 times the public bathroom will have runneth dry as well, usually because of another suite suffering a similar fate as of recent. Then comes creativity in the form of napkins and such. This is usually followed by consoling your comrade, who is in a most unfit state. Never at any point in your life, will toilet paper be on your mind as often as when you live in a suite, because it is a precious commodity. It's only more damning because of the vault filled to the ceiling with the stuff downstairs, the one your not entrusted to enter.

I am really not blaming the RAs, it's not their fault that they have lives and are expected to be available for this stupid mundane tasks at all hours. Really this system just needs some serious altering, because this on demand shit has got to go.

Speaking of asswipe, quantum physics test tomorrow. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

The Rarest of Days

As I posted on Facebook recently, I have 22 pennies on my desk, the newest is from 2010 and the oldest is from 1944. In other news, I haven't left my room much today.

That being said, I'm having a very productive day, I tend to when Benjamin Franklin gives me a 25 hour day. Groovy stuff. Got up this morning, read two chapters of A Brief History of Time. Taught myself basic Python and programmed something that rated buildings on how good they would be at defending against zombies. Then I did my Diff Eq work early and listened to the new Guster album through 4 times, working on the fifth. I figured out how to break up cheese on the irregularly short Wegman's bread to a form that is geometrically desirable. I did my astronomy homework and I wrote five pages of a script for a movie I don't believe I'll ever make. Doing German now, just felt like documenting my once annual day of productivity.

Sic itur ad astra motherfucker.

James Hetfield-ah

Over the summer, my brother and I got a big kick out of doing what was called "James Hetfielding" songs. Simply sing a song, preferably not very metal, in James Hetfield voice. It was hilarious, and made several Green Day songs so much better. Then we started doing it to The Beatles, and many a rofl was had.

So imagine my shock when Wolfgang told me about a little band called "Beatallica". I was floored. It's just so hilarious hearing a Metallica-like band, sing The Beatles. Just listen to these folk,













And just for the lulz,

Super-Science Struggle

Ahh, Saturdays. Waking up to the sound of Wolfgang yelling at the window. Saturday is our weekly Pancake Day. Every Saturday, Wolfgang comes up our suite for Pancakes at 10 AM and every week we are asleep when he gets here and he has to wake us up while locked out.

Pancakes have now started being traditionally followed up by a batch of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Today we picked a lovely film called Robot v. Aztec Mummy. That film isn't what caught our eye today. It was the short serial at the beginning. Episode 1 of Radar Men from the Moon, The Moon Rocket. Let's just say once it was over we went online to find the other episodes. It is beyond brilliant.

Pictured: Genius

The commentary from MST3K was almost nonexistent during this segment, it was unnecessary. What needed to be said was said by the actors. This show was just amazing. It opened with several bits of stock footage of things blowing up. When the main character, Commando Cody is revealed, he has it figured out in under 1 minute. I checked. From the fact that the explosions were of an atomic nature, but without the really big boom. So it must be an "atomic beam". Which no one on Earth has. Since Commando Cody has just built a moon rocket, it must be some one from there. Why else would he have built the convenient transport?

Pictured: Convenient transport

While we were laughing and enjoying the exploits of Commando Cody, I can't deny that I wasn't taking notes. The music, cinematography and script were all noted and cataloged. For those of you who know me, you may know that last year I began working together a script for a bad 50's sci-fi sppof. Lord Victorian v. The Robot-Pirate-Bear-Ninja-Monkey-Vampires from Space. Long title, easy concept. Steampunk British nobility with a steam powered flying pennyfarthing and steam powered gatling gun for an arm fights giant space monster/internetsworstnightmare. If I ever do finish the script, it will have a Commando Cody noted in the credits, because his influence is undeniable. The thing is going to be no-budget, except I need to make a penny farthing, big one or model one, all options are on the table.

Pictured: Hope

If your intrigued by the amazing adventures of Commando Cody, well thats why Jesus invented Google Video.

Tis the 43rd Day of the Bureaucracy

Folks, I have once again been away from this place that I write pointless unread drivel that I feel an obligation to post for reasons I don't think I'll ever truly understand. Since last I spoke we are all 25 days older and $78,361,331,988.99 deeper into debt.

That being said, I noticed something while looking up that number, we are only a trillion dollars short of our gross domestic product. Now years ago, I promised a big ass party when the two numbers hit a point of equivalence. A celebration of the excess we will no longer enjoy. It's kind of like Mardi Gras, except instead of celebrating before getting rid of meat, we're celebrating just before our national economic collapse. So it's the same idea really. This is similar to the promise that I made in 7th grade, that I would throw a party if/when Dr. Phil and/or Oprah end up in prison for some reason.

So just reminding you, watch the debt clock to know what time the party starts.

Or Court TV, whatever happens first really.

10/21/06 NEVAR FORGET!!!111one

I really need more of my MSSM friends to tell me about their experiences with Braveristan, so I make video.



So here is a few topics I am looking for,

-The word Homework.
-Stories I may not know.
-Mall-Movie trip to Lowes
-Description of Sunday's Brunch and Battle
          -Refresher, the battle was very short and marked by a
          resounding communist defeat. Painful even.
-The reconstruction of Braveristan
-The construction of Castle Commie
-Wargames out in the field
-Aftermath
-Popularity of Boffer club
-Braveristan 2.0
-Sean Lynch

Also I'd like more stories from the first 3 episodes, that I could use to improve them for the full-length movie.

Also if you have photos and videos you think I could use, email is tylerbeaulieu@gmail.com

Thank you,
The Tyler

All we got to do is hold on to JESUS

So I'm on lunch break, eating at my mom's office as there are a couple internets here. So I was wondering what I was going to do to kill an hour. I resorted to what any fine upstanding American would do, I'm gonna look up Facebook comments on CNN news stories and analyze them. Duh.

I chose an article from a couple days ago. It was another lame human interest story CNN posted on Facebook for reasons I barely understand. The title, "Cooking fries? Cleaning hospitals? Executives reflect on their first job". I read the article, best part is the story of the Walmart CEO, who's first job was unloading trucks for Walmart and crashed his Honda Civic into his bosses car on the first day of work. The article was alright, still don't know why it deserved breaking news status on Facebook, but I digress. Let's dive into the comments section!!!

Our first contestant is Nickolas, a 2009 graduate of Papillion-LaVista South High School. Nickolas writes, "no fucking way! i wonder if steve jobs had to suck off bill gates to get where he is?". Haha, nice try Nick, but the correct answer was Nolan Bushnell, he sucked off Nolan Bushnell.

You don't even know who I am, do you Nick?

Our next contestant is Nikki, a 1998 graduate of Licoln west high school, Nikki likes Mr. Scarface and loves to kick it with her husband and family (all caps). Nikki writes, "i am writing in concerns of the new crack cocaine law it should only apply for the young mens and womens,that's been locked up in federal prison fo r5years or better." Hate to break it to you Nikki, this article has nothing to do with crack cocaine, thanks for playing. 


Our next contestant is Mark, who is best known for actually knowing how to use Facebook privacy settings, though I was able to learn that he is in fact male. Mark writes, "Now all these jobs are TAKEN by fucking ILLEGALS...;] Now the "O"regime wants to fingerprint and register morgage brokers... NOT the fucking illegals...". Hard to tell what you said there Mark, but I take it you don't like immigrants. Your right, clearly illegal immigrants with no official status as a U.S. citizen are going to make it and become CEO. I mean, duh.

Next up is Michael Mwendwa Cartman who writes, "Good stuff there, i wanna invite y'all to Kenya and experience the diverse culture we have here. Animal and bird view, awesome climate and people. Hola". Not much to add there. Suddenly want to visit Kenya though. Hola.


Now we have Sam from Fresno, CA. He is a peace keeper whose current employer is God and his profile is of him drinking and playing guitar, so I will assume he is unemployed. Sam writes, "they can eat my dick..." Ooh, I think your boss would have something to say about that. Theoretically they could though, and you could charge. This is how economics works Sam and the profession of prostitution is one of the oldest in the world. Thanks for playing.

For our last contestant I used CTRL+F and the word ""Christ". I found Joel who claims to teach college in Lagos, Nigeria and enjoys Lil Wayne and the Oprah Winfrey Show. He had three comments.

I NO, RIGHT?!

This brings me to my final point. On these comment threads you have several types of people, spammers, all cappers, bible thumpers, grammar failures and just dumb people. So I decided to join the conversation as all of the above.

BY MY SHIT

hAV A NICE WEEKEND!1

Smile And Greet The Customer

Do you have a friend who does or has worked at Walmart? Were they trained for the register at any point? Was it a computer-based learning course? Please say the phrase that is the title of this post to them. Their instinctual response will probably be to scream and rip out your jugular because that phrase starts out the steps for EVERY SINGLE LESSON.

The cashier lessons haven't mattered much to me, as most days I man The Door. Yes the capitals are necessary, because I am actually capable of hearing them every time The Door is mentioned. See in Lawn and Garden you either work register or watering plants or zoning/stocking shelves or you work at The Door. Working at The Door means you stay at The Door, you never leave The Door for any reason, ANY REASON. You smile and greet the customer on the way in and check receipts on the way out. If you do any more than that so help you God there will be consequences. Occasionally an on-duty police officer even shows up to make sure that The Door is being manned all proper like.

I am good at my job. I am brilliant at standing around and doing nothing, not moving, and I am very prompt about taking and utilizing my fifteen minute breaks as well as my hour lunches. This apparently makes me an ideal employee. If there is anything they hate more than anything else it's overtime, and let me tell you, you will not catching me working more than I am asked to.

The most awkward part of my job is the stragglers, people who end up stuck at The Door with me, waiting for a  ride or chewing tobacco or something. The conversation is usually about the weather, perpetually about the weather actually. In fact it's so often about the weather that it's almost maddening. It feels like we still haven't evolved above pointing at the sky and discussing the obvious.

Oh not rain again...

Though sometimes they get stuck longer. Then they start discussing religion or politics, and I am supposed to be the positive feelings door greetery guy. I tend to just agree with what they're saying, even if I disagree, because I'm just there to make them feel good. If I argued with them they can report me, if I agree with them, they come back. The problem will only arise if they ever talk to each other.

Person: Are you a man of faith.
Me: I'm baptized Catholic.
Person: Faith is important, theres not enough in this world today.
Me: People are really falling away from religion.
Person: I know it. If it wasn't for religion I know I would have died of the stroke I had last year. I just know that God pulled me through.
Me: Faith is very important

Later that day...
Person: You know what the problem is with the world, religion.
Me: Tell me about it.
Person: People ignoring the objective information in front of them and embracing some deity, fighting in the name of some imaginary person.
Me: Too many wars are fought over religion.

I'm an atheist, though technically I didn't lie anywhere above. I know a lot of ill people who attribute faith to their healing, and killing in the name of religion does not sit well with me, but still. It gets worse.

Person: You've got all these people out there who are perfectly capable of working and choose not to.
Me: People don't know the meaning of an honest days work anymore.
Person: They're lazy, this whole generation is lazy. It's the drugs I tell you. They need to crack down harder on that.
Me: They are the bane of society.

Later that day...
Person: They need to legalize marijuana already.
Me: It's a war on the culture, not on the drug.
Person: Exactly, it makes no sense to spend all this money on a drug war when they could reap the benefits of taxation and regulation.
Me: Not to mention the boon to the snack food industry.

Then there is just the weird ones...

Person: I miss the twist tops.
Me: The twist tops?
Person: For beer, you have to use a bottle opener now.
Me: I see.
Person: I makes it harder to open when I'm driving.
Me: They might be on to something.
Person: And they don't fit in the cupholders right.
Me: Still think they're onto something.
Person: I can still get them off, but it's hard when driving.
Me: You really shouldn't be opening them when you're driving.
Person: What am I supposed to do, I don't got a passenger to open them.
Me: ...
Person: Got you there.

Later that day...
Person: You hear all these people saying they aren't capable of killing a person. Of course they're capable of it.
Me: It just depends on the moment I guess.
Person: Not even, I bet I could kill someone right now and sleep soundly tonight. As long as I can justify it to me, that is all that matters.
Me: ...
Person: I bet this automatic wood chopper could do some serious damage to someone.

I would like to note that these are real conversations with customers who've chosen to remain anonymous, paraphrased and shortened, but the content remains. Anyway, I plan to stay at The Door, you meet a lot of interesting people. Plus the weather has been nice lately, or so I'm told...

Twigs in Glass

There has been a disturbing thought plaguing my mind for months now. It is a result of the "Nobody knows how to make a pencil" speech we heard in economics. It is the realization that all of the man-made things around me are, in fact, made by some human being or machine out there. All of it. I say disturbing because when this realization hits full swing, the whole world seems to be utterly mad.

This all culminated into a recent trip to the grand opening of my local McDonalds. There my brother and I sat down and enjoyed the greasy goodness, until I began to look at the decor. I saw that the new establishment was aiming for a modern cafe-style set up. The thing that caught my eye was the booth dividers.

They were sheets of glass, with twigs cast into them.

Pictured: McDonalds vaguely similar to ours from Attleboro, MA.

Not Pictured: Twigs in Glass...

At first I shrugged it off as modern artistic bull shit, but then I thought about it. I thought about it in the context of the previously mentioned disturbing thought. I realized that several other McDonalds must have these, I doubt they're hand made, nothing at McDonalds is. So what I'm realizing is somewhere there is a facility, with a room or a machine or something, that specializes in placing aesthetically pleasing twigs inside of sheets of glass. There has to be multiple people working there, and thats what they do. They are professional twigcasters.

I began to consider all the implications of this. What do these people claim to do at High School reunions?

Man 1: So I've went on to do some venture capitalism, pretty profitable stuff. Also been dabbling in Real Estate. What have you been up to?

Man 2: Oh me, I put twigs... in glass.

Man 1: ...

Then I imagine the board meeting, where some young hot shot industrial designer, had to convince a company to set up a division dedicated to the art of placing small aesthetically pleasing twigs inside of glass. The presentation was a hit and an ad hits the newspaper, asking for people with knowledge of glass casting and an overly zealous passion for twigs. Machines were designed, a workplace protocol established. Engineers worked on making the most cost-effective twig-glassification device.

Then when this Caribou McDonalds was built, some office assistant in McDonalds called and made an order for 8 sheets of twigged glass. The order was processed and loaded onto a truck and driven, to Northern Maine and dropped off where construction workers opened the box and I'll be damned if one of them didn't ask "What the hell are these for?".

Are the twigs real? If they are real that opens a whole new vista of ridiculousness. They have to find a perfect variety of twig producing plant. At some point there was probably an executive, calling a biologist, wondering about twig genetic engineering. Can we make them straighter? Fewer defects? More... twiggy.

It also means that the holy grail of twig-related careers is listed in the classifieds somewhere, "Twig Inspector". The person's job is to spend the whole day being judgmental, of twigs...

What sort of education does that involve? Would one consider it a job or a career? Then I can't help picture him being one of those passionate workers, someone who ends up taking their work home with them. One day there is a family BBQ, everyone is out back, listening to music, eating grilled meats and assorted salads. Children are laughing and playing in a sprinkler. The adults sit around a small fire pit, drinking wine and talking about the good ol' days. Then a twig falls from the tree. The man, we'll call him Randy, looks at it from his $10.00 lawn chair from the local Walmart and says,

Randy: That twig is rubbish, I'd never put it in glass.

Sharon: Honey don't bring work home with you.

Steve: Randy, your job is oddly specific.

Randy: SHUT UP STEVE.

A fight breaks out, a friendship is shattered. Years down the road his obsession with twigs leads to a divorce. The children can't stand him, as his twig-related Christmas presents prove lackluster as they grow older. At the age of 47 he is found dead in a pile of twigs just off the highway. No one knows how he or the twigs got there or what killed him, as an autopsy is deemed unnecessary. Case closed, so ends the life of Randy, Twig Inspector. His gravestone is placed in a cemetery five miles out of the town he grew up in. It is placed under a tree that is known for shedding twigs. The gardener at the cemetery has always been annoyed by this tree. Then one day as it began to rain and the gardener began to pack up his equipment, a lone woman arrives, she is dressed all in black. She stands in front of the grave for five minutes, only letting a single tear slide down her cheeks in that time. She then leaves a bouquet of the most perfect twigs ever gathered, some from Randy's own collection. She kisses her hand and lays the hand reverently on the gravestone. She gets inside her maroon Subaru and rides off. She was never identified, never seen again. The gardener made the decision not to bother picking up the twigs next to the stone from there on out.

All of this flashes through my mind and I take another bite out of my Angus Bacon and Cheese. I talked about it for a half an hour with my brother. This train of thought has plagued me for days. More question keep popping up. Is there a lobbying group for twig-related industries? What kind of regulations must a twig glassification operation deal with? Are there more than one twigging glass company? Is the competition stiff? Are they geographically near each other? Do they ever play each other in competitive sports? Are there small towns out there supported by their twig and glass industries? I can go on. The point is, I'm going mad, and I blame Milton Friedman.

Note: I did a quick Google search, there is a website called twigsandglass.net. Not related to the twigs IN glass mentioned in this article, but I giggled none the less.

E3 2010: From The 2015 Perspective

To those of us select few who view this trade conference as the super bowl of the gaming realm, E3 2010 was a bit lackluster. There is this mistake we make as gamers, that watching this 20-30 hours worth of coverage is going to be entertaining for every second. Yet we watch it anyway to analyze and learn about the gaming industries future and eventually select winners based on our own subjective viewpoints (I don't care what you think, your emotions cloud your judgment).

Despite its lack of entertainment value or wow factors, I have to say that what I saw there was the future, you know, the one Marty McFly visited. The gaming industry was demoing the everyday stuff from 2015, as Doctor Emmett Brown and Marty McFly saw it.

E3 2013 has a lot to work towards.

For instance. Lets think to Marty's walk through downtown Hill Valley. After pulling his pockets inside out like all the cool kids, he saw a hologram of Jaws come out to bite him. Now there were no holograms at E3 this year, but there was one technological breakthrough, the 3DS.

And sharks apparently...

3D without glasses, that is the handheld device of the future. Knowing how technology advances, how long are we from large scale 3D that is glasses free? The technology Nintendo is bringing to the table is only the beginning of this 3D revolution, and Jaws is overdue for a remake.

Then Marty heads off to the Cafe 80's. There he plays a classic 80's video game because the kids can't figure out how to use it. This is because the idea of the controller, was foreign to them. Somewhere, Don Mattrick is grinning like the fucking tool that he is.

With Kinect, Microsoft's XBox 360 is going to take the console war to a new level. I don't care what your opinion on the matter is, I don't care that the opening line up is lame, that is a fact. When the average mom and dad sees that thing demoed on the Early Show, it is going to be the console in every families home before Harry Smith finishes dancing. It's lack of controller and voice control interface is going to be big.

So E3 2010, showing us how brilliant Robert Zimeckis really was.

Note: Just putting this out there, every celebrity in the Cafe 80's is dead now. Think about it.

Stereotypical Damn-I-Haven't-Been-On-Here-In-A-While-Post Post

Holy hell. It's been like two months. Since my last post we are all 51 days older and $210,656,539,955.25 deeper into debt.

Too bad, I was doing well, and to think at the time I wasn't even attempting to do well, just had a lot of material. Since then I had finals and then a job at Walmart. The job is good and pays well enough for my ends, but I have to say it is a creative black hole.

So is this me saying that I'll be posting more often again, no fucking idea. We'll just have to see. Probably will embarrassingly put up another post like this in a month.

I have been writing down a lot of youtube video ideas of late and I will post them on here if they happen.

Have an awesome summer everybody.

Gears of War 3

So today I was scrolling through the Google, and it revealed to me a pretty important piece of news if you follow the entertainment industry. It read, "Gears of War 3 trailer, release date announced on the Jimmy Fallon show". Now those of you who have known me for some time know how I must have reacted, with my extensive history with the Gears of War franchise and all. That reaction of course was, "Jimmy Fallon has his own show?!?!?"

Inconceivable!

This was very similar to my shock about three years ago when I found out Carson Daly had a late night show. I was surprised when I found out that he had not, in fact, been killed by the nineties.

Inconceivable!

I just don't understand why such a major video game announcement was made on the Jimmy Fallon Show. I mean the audience probably couldn't even hear the trailer over Jimmy Fallon giggling to himself. To think, Conan forced to wander into the realm of cable while Jimmy Fallon sits there laughing away at himself. The only word I can use to describe this travesty is,

Canadaland and the Kingdom of the Crystal Hockey Puck

"UUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuasdlkfjasdlfkjasdnkvbdfakfjsdlds..."

I'll be honest, I'm paraphrasing that last bit, but it was a lot unintelligible blather anyway. I ran as if a giant beast that could eat me and shit out a gold brick was chasing me. I ran that way because that was exactly what was happening. For something the size of the god damned pentagon, it was fast.

"Keel dee humon, ehhhhh."

Even the god damned Aurum Fecalis says eh. I hate this place so much. No amount of money was worth putting up with these pinkofrostbacks. I ran down the sewers, nearly slipping on the remains of some canucks poutine, I ran into that stinky cavernous horror hoping that the marines were at the other end with a black hawk. A black hawk with a towel and some soap, and perhaps a nuclear weapon to destroy this god forsaken excuse for a magical wonderland.

Well I didn't get that. Just as the Aurum Fecalis was about smelling distance away (and let me tell you, not a distance you want to be with in), Keanu Reeves came bursting around the corner dual wielding uzi's and let the Aurum Fecalis have a face full of lead.

"Woah, eh."

"What the flying fuck are you doing in a sewer and why are you dressed like Neo."

"Inaudible gibberish, eh."

Once again I paraphrased, but he has this amazing ability to make a whole sentence just sound like an extended woah. I stopped asking questions, an unspeakable move for a detective, but the use of logic was going to be useless here. I just nabbed an Uzi from the Woah-master and began to hunt for an exit. That didn't take long as soon the ceiling was lifted off of the place and several members of the Edmonton Oilers repelled in armed with sharpened hockey sticks. They grabbed Keanu and I and we were pulled to the surface. There we saw Tim Horton and a small contingent of Canucks waiting on the surface.

"Welcome back, eh?"

"I am not talking to you, this is all your fault you massive pile of douche. And how the hell did you lift the roof off down there?"

Timmy just pointed up. What I saw left my jaw a little slack.

"Since when did you enlist Paul motherfucking Bunyan?"

"Last week, eh."

"What are you guys doing?"

"We move on Quebec in the morning, eh. We're just waiting for our Navy to get here from Newfoundland and Prince Edward Island, eh."

"Navy? You mean a couple of fishing boats with a potato gun glued on."

"Do not insult hundreds of years of Canadian Naval Tradition, eh! There are aboot seven on there way, eh!"

"Okay, 20 canucks, Keanu Reeves, Paul Bunyan and 7 barely modified fishing boats versus the rest of Canada."

"We also have a couple hunded Moostauros, eh."

"A couple hundred whats?"

A stampede of moose joined the party, except they weren't any kind of moose. They had a lumberjack for a head, a lumberjack dual wielding axes. I was left speechless, they were just so awesome. All of their axes were covered in blood, lots of blood. Their manly beards in combination with their flannel shirts running into the body of a fucking moose made them look like unstoppable killing machines.

"Okay, that'll be handy."

Suddenly the camp was ambushed by fifty French Canadians. They sprang from the bushes with baguettes held as if they were foils. Some of them even had emptied bottles of wine that were broken to make a sharp pointy bit. A battle was about to break out, of epic proportions. I'm talking like Kingdom of Heaven proportions, like Lord of the Rings proportions, like Pirate of the Caribbean 3 proportions if both sides hadn't pussied out so two ships in a whirlpool could kind of fight. Like seriously, what the hell? That scene had potential! It would have...

Long story short, Uzi's are effective weapons, and so far everyone was all prepared for hand to hand shit. Like, one magazine and they were all pretty dead. Like pretty damned dead. Like, baguettes do not block bullets very good.

I just looked back at Timmy. Keanu was standing next to him, gun on the ground. He was going to try and do Kung fu to them!

"Seriously. You guys never thought to use a gun. It was really easy."

There was just silence. Finally Timmy simply just said, "Huh, eh."

A Green Revolution (Fueled by Christian Morals and the Wachowski Bros.)

The following is a modest proposal for green energy.

In spite of my current religious beliefs of science and FNORD, I do come from a Catholic upbringing. I remember reading about the exploits of Jesus H. Christ as he used his magnificent God powers to make zombies and mass produce the ingredients for tuna fish sandwiches. I read them all in my Bible Picture Book, which had few words and just a lot of pictures of Jesus doing his thing. The thing is, Jesus always seemed to be all glowy. This was always very distracting to me when I was younger. Jesus and many of the saints always seemed to have a light bulb for a head. As a scientist I begin to wonder if they are sick or irradiated, maybe Jesus stumbled into one of the Roman Empire's notorious toxic waste dumps and there gained his super powers.

After discussing the phenomena with colleagues, we came to the conclusion that he was emitting pure, purity. Then I began to wonder if there was someway to harness pureness. Comparing the luminosity exuding from the head of Jesus Christ, it is approximately equivalent to the light output of a standard 100 watt light bulb. So if we had a spare Jesus kicking around, we could potentially draw 100 watts of power from pureness output. Unfortunately we don't have a spare Jesus, and I hear we still have a bit of a wait before he comes back to say howdy.

Sup guys?

So, where does one get purity in this impure age. All of us are plagued by sin thanks to modern society and the internet. There is only one true source of purity in this day and age, devoid of original and all them other sins. Recently baptized babies. Now considering they are not Jesus, we should probably expect about a half a Jesus worth of power output. There is also the problem that moments after baptism the baby is bound to offend the Lord by pooping in his pants or accidentally yelling a curse word they learned from their parents to the church.

Science has provided us with a solution to this inevitable purity reduction anomaly, hydrogen sulfide. Scientists have been working with hydrogen sulfide as a means of putting human beings into a metabolically inert state. This means that if we can develop a process of injecting the recently baptized young with hydrogen sulfide, we could have religiously fueled power output that will not diminish and will not require feeding. They will be trapped in a permanently pure state for as long as we need to hold them there. And since the babies won't need to breathe, we could have limitless power with a carbon footprint of zero.

Now unfortunately, here in the United States, we have a rather annoying sense of morality that could prevent this fantastic technology from taking off. But I think that there is one nation that could fulfill the dream of Pure Power Conversion Processes, China. With their major steps in population control and belief in the idea of the greater good overriding the rights and happiness of the individual, they are a remarkable candidate for this technology. Also they are the worlds second highest consumer of electricity, at 3,640,000,000 MW*h/yr.

So how to implement it. Well at half a Jesus worth of output, we'll need over 9000 recently baptized Megababies (1 Megababy = 1,000 babies) to produce the power needed to fuel China. So if China makes an exclusive deal with the Powerthirst Corporation, they only need about 22,500 Catholic couples to produce the necessary number of babies to be baptized and then plugged into the Glorious National Power Grid of the People. Once the other nations of the world begin to see the wonderful benefits of this system, many more will follow in Chinas footsteps.

A Loss of Essence

Last November I posted about the 2010 ballot situation. There were a lot of very scary measures in circulation and I am glad to say the worst of them didn't seem to get the signatures. Just in case you forgot though,

Michael S.Heath

70 Sewall Street

Augusta, ME 04330

(H) (207) 445-4929 (W) 622-7634

That is the address of Hitler. My Discordian fellows know what to do.

So, what's left of that mess? The two measures currently in circulation involve fluoridation of water and a casinos in Oxford county. I find the fluoridation of water measure very funny thanks to Dr. Strangelove. I decided to send a letter of approval to Jacqueline.

For Glorious Man Night

As many of you know, I am a huge proponent of nights of manly excess. During my tenure at the Maine School of Sleep-deprivation and Malnutrition, I ran a series of Man Nights, where manly men engaged in gross displays of carnivorous feasting whilst watching films of a generally explosive and plotless nature. Knowing this I was very interested when Mr. Victor Tardiff introduced me to The Expendables.

I was reminded of this movie again today when Hijinks Ensue covered it. It's true, the movie has a fuck load of actors. Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, Jet Li, Dolph Lundgren, Steve Austin, Terry Crews, Bruce Willis and Mickey Rourke. Arnold Schwartzenager is in it, in spite his gubernatorialness. Brittany Murphy is supposedly in it even though shes been dead for like a fucking year. I am sad Segull and Van Damme turned it down. The idea of one big grandiose tribute to all that is manly and bad ass would be beautiful. At this point I'm waiting for them to announce that Bruce Lee and John Wayne are going to be digitally rendered into the cast and that Chuck Norris is going to fight Mr. T, I mean it's getting close to that in the ridiculously over the top nature of this casting roster.

With this and the A-Team movie (seriously, fucking tank-parachute), this is going to be a good summer for men.

Canadaland Revolutions

If your just catching up, this is part 3. Part one is here.

I want to start writing this part of my tale by saying this. I really, really, really hate communists. I am so glad I got that off my chest.

"Timmy."

"Yes, Mr. McClane, eh?"

"I quit."

I started walking away from the waffle stick town. I'm a private detective, I get hired to find a missing cat or look into adulterous couples or be a comic relief for Mel Gibson. That is the job of the private detective. Nowhere does it say that I have to fight my way through the French-communist wasteland of Quebec to fight William Shatner. Although I'm almost certain I could kick his ass I needed to get back a place where everybody hates your guts and where everyone has grown plenty of a gut to hate. The good ol' U S of A.

"We have an agreement, eh. You find my kingdom, I give you one hundred thousand American dollars, eh?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, you frenchfuck. I do not take monopoly money. Besides, the moneys been circulating in Canada. It was probably used in your socialist plots! Like water fluoridation or socialized medicine. I don't want your dirty pinko-mon..."

At that point I tripped on one of the many syrup puddles and fell down a hill. At the bottom my arm hit a maple tree and I heard a loud snap. Now seeing as the tree wasn't falling over and didn't seem to be screaming in agony, unlike myself, I came to the conclusion the snapping sound had come from me.

Instantly, and I mean instantly, like Δt = 0 seconds instantly. Like the amount of time Stephen Hawking has spent as a mountaineering tour guide. I'm talking about the amount of time it takes for a photon to stay in the same fucking spot. Zero seconds after my injury a helicopter was in the sky. I knew what it was, I had learned the smell it emits long ago. It was the smell of dirty communist doctors, flying their helicopter fueled by sunshine and farts, lightly diluted with ethanol and twigs.

"No you bastards! I am a god damned patriot and I will suffer due to my lack of insurance! I will not ride with you! I will go home and wrap this up with duct tape as Uncle Sam and Jesus intended it when they wrote the Bill of Rights!"

"You just relax, eh."

I don't really know what happened next. These commie hosers drugged me up and loaded me into their pinkocopter and flew me straight to the nearest St. Comrades Glorious Health Center of the People. It flew me right into the waiting room where I spent the next 3 agonizing days reading the same copy of Highlights magazine. Then I was moved to triage where I was injected, inspected, detected, infected and neglected by an android nurse hooked to the complicated matrix of information at the Canadian Department of Life and Communist Affairs. Then, using money from who knows where, they patched me up, drugged me up and put a cast on made of recycled fabric. They even printed a joke on it,

Q: How do you stop bacon from curling in the frying pan?

A: Take away their brooms!

I didn't get it. Do these people use brooms to fry bacon? I didn't have long to ponder it though as my frostback doctor came in.

"It seems you had a bit of a spill there, eh?"

"Why the fuck would you use a broom to fry bacon?"

"Eh?"

"And for that matter, how are wafflesticks considered decent lumber? While we're asking questions, who the hell is the payer in a single payer system?"

The doctor suddenly lost the perpetually friendly complexion that plagued everyone in this winter horrorland. "That is a question best left alone, eh?"

"No. I'm on to something, I'm a detective, I see when there is something you don't want me to know. Who pays for this?"

"You ask too many questions, eh." He reached for a large lever and pulled it. My bed fell into the abyss. And by the abyss, I mean the sewage system. I floated down this horrible river of unmentionables on my bedyacht until I reached a coliseum sized room. There I saw it. A man stood on a pulpit and yelled.

"THERE STANDS A CHALLENGER TO THE AURUM FECALIS, EH!"

I got off my bedyacht and stood before the beast. I was given a hockey stick to defend myself. Of course, it all makes sense now. The only way this single payer system could work. They've got a god damn 200 ton troll that eats refuse and shits gold!

It just sat there on top of a pile of gold the size of the god damned Pyramids of god damned Giza. Then it roared at me and began to charge. It was then, that I bravely ran away.

"FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU...."

TO BE CONTINUED

Live Blogging from Intro Psychology.

3:30 - Just got back my paper. 30/40 at the bottom, but all the criteria above it total to 35/40. Not losing twelve and a half points to bad math.

3:45 - Talking about how only psychologists ask questions about how things work, the physicist inside of me disagrees.

3:50 - She just said Darwin founded gravity.

3:51 - Oh dear, she is trying to use Spock as an example.

4:12 - I believe she just had us all doing awesome face.

4:16 - Ahhhh, break.

4:28 - Teacher still not back. Masses have resorted to playing with thermostat and make it go psssshhhh.'

4:45 - Fun candid camera video. No idea how it is relevant, at all.

5:02 - Out early!

The Eleventh Hour Review

First of all I'm not here to cry out that "Matt Smith is the Doctor!" as several UK sources are screaming into the sky. I was impressed and he did far better than I had imagined. I will say this, Steven Moffat is the writer. I am a long time fan of Moffat's work, his Doctor Who episodes in the first four seasons are all in my top ten and his nineties spoof, Doctor Who and the Curse of the Fatal Death was hilarious. Ashley recently introduced me to his show Coupling and it was also fantastic and very funny.

When he was announced to take over for Russell T. Davies as head writer, I was ecstatic. I can't think of anyone better than him. Of course, at the time of that announcement, Tennant was still going to be the Doctor. When he announced his departure, I became very worried. But then I remembered, Moffat controlled his destiny. I became a bit more at ease.

So here we are in a whole new Doctor's world. New TARDIS, new companion, new screwdriver, new production team and new Doctor. That is a whole lot of new to get used to at once. This first episode was crucial and if I were in Steven's position, I would've crumbled. The point is, he had the monumental task of taking all of these Doctor Who fans who believe David Tennant was the greatest Doctor since Tom Baker, and making them believe that Matt Smith wasn't horrible. A hard task considering most came in to this series hating Smith because of the fact that he wasn't David Tennant. Moffat had one episode to convince everyone that it would be alright. One episode to convince the masses that the Doctor was still alive and kicking. In that respect, I believe he has done his job.

This isn't so much a review as it is a vote of confidence in this new crew. I miss David, I think we'll all miss him, but this new show is still the same old fun and adventure we expect. I believe Matt Smith is full of potential and I quite like his take on the Doctor. That and I love the new TARDIS. It's a strange mix of old series and new series with a lot of steampunk splashed on for good measure. Kudos to the people who designed that set, I've already gotten used to and fallen in love with it.

All that praise being said, please get the intro music fixed for next season.

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light!"

Abridged version of my Utopian Literature paper (2008).

My Utopia is not on a small island; it does not follow any specific form of government and its structure is unknown to me. It is not a place, but rather it is a time. My Utopia is quite simply the future. I am not talking about the future of a hundred years from now, but rather the future of billions of years from now. Imagine the most distant future you have ever even attempted to conceive, and then go further, much further. Look past our galactic collision with Andromeda, past the destruction of the sun, past so many things that we figure to be beyond the scope of humanity. It is a time when diverse beings of profound intelligence roam the galaxies, beings descended from us. The beauty of the future as a Utopia is that it is so very possible. To bring forth this divine future, all we must do is survive and contribute constructively to progress of humanity.

The basic principle of the future as a Utopia was outlined in an essay by Martin Seligman, professor of psychology at the University of Pennsylvania. The essay was titled The First Coming, and opened with the sentence, “I am optimistic that God may come in the end”. There are two things that are very provocative about this sentence. The first of these is that God does not come in the beginning as the creator, but rather at the end of time. The second and most important point however, is that this sentence was written by an atheist. Seligman is not referencing the Judeo-Christian God, he is instead referencing “an alternative notion of God relevant to the secular community”. The first point he makes is to abandon the idea of God as the original creator of the universe, for this is what makes God so hard to accept for the secular community. He asks us to forget the creation aspect of God and to “let the mystery of creation be consigned to the branch of physics called cosmology”.

Without the aspect of creation, that leaves us with three characteristics of what makes God, omniscience, omnipotence and benevolence. Seligman asks the question, “Does this God exist?”. If God is to be defined as a being that is omniscient, omnipotent and benevolent, it would seem impossible, with the science and technology of today, that this God could develop naturally. Then we must consider the astronomically immense future that awaits us if we have the persistence to meet it. Over this extensive period of time, biological and cultural evolution is always progressing towards greater complexity. Billions of years ago our ancestors were bacteria. So we can assume that billions of years from now, our ancestors will be as different from us as we are from bacteria. As our technology, knowledge, and positive institutions expand, we become more and more powerful. Seligman looks at this immense future and then references the list of the characteristics of God. “A process that selects for more complexity is ultimately aimed at nothing less than omniscience, omnipotence and goodness. Omniscience is arguably the ultimate end product of science. Omnipotence is arguably the ultimate end product of technology. Goodness is arguably the ultimate end product of positive institutions…So in the very longest run, we have a God who is not supernatural but who has acquired omniscience, omnipotence and benevolence through natural processes”. Simply put into mathematical terms, as the limit of humanity approaches the end of time, we constantly approach divinity.

This is similar to the Isaac Asimov short story, The Last Question, which helped inspire Seligman’s essay. In it, humanity has designed a supercomputer known as Multivac, which answers any question given to it. Multivac gives humanity the plans to directly power all of Earth with the sun. Some technicians at Multivac begin to discuss this. One of them makes the claim that humanity can run off of the Sun’s energy forever. The other reminds him that in a few billion years, the sun will burn out. He reminds the technician, “Entropy has to increase to maximum, that's all”. So they ask Multivac if entropy can be reversed, to which Multivac responds “INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER”. The story progresses until after humans have used up the sun, and the computer gives the same response, this is repeated once humans have used up all the space in the galaxy and again when humanity has spread to every galaxy in the Universe. Then entropy continues to progress and the universe begins to burn out, the computer continues to give the same response. Then humanity fuses itself into the computer, which is now built outside of space and time and works to figure out the answer to the question, “Can entropy ever be reversed?”. Finally they arrive at an answer and this being which was created by humanity and sitting outside of time says, “LET THERE BE LIGHT!” after which Asimov writes, “and there was light”. Asimov portrays humans and their technology as a God through their ability to reverse entropy, which creates a new universe.

This belief of humanity infinitely approaching divinity makes every human being very important, because we are all building blocks towards a better future. As Seligman put it, “I am optimistic that this is the door through which meaning can enter our lives…that as individuals we can be a tiny part of this process, which has at its ultimate end the bringing of a God who is omniscient, omnipotent, and benevolent”. But to reach this dream, to approach the limit, we first must survive to see it. Survival is a game of problem solving on our part, but it is also a problem of probability. I tend to lean towards Sagan’s philosophy of survival, which lies in decreasing the probability of annihilation by expanding human civilization into space. In his book The Pale Blue Dot, Sagan suggest that "if we were up there among the planets, if there were self-sufficient human communities on many worlds... then the safer the human species will be”. It is our duty to survive so that the intelligent species who descend from us can continue the journey towards omnipotent, omniscient and benevolent beings.

The dangers of our extinction are more prevalent now than ever, especially as we are now entering a century when our self-destruction is becoming more practical than ever. Sir Martin Rees talks about this in his book Our Final Century in which he predicts that we have a 50% chance of surviving the 21^st century. Rees believes that “in this century not only will our world be changing faster than ever, but in new and different ways”. He goes on to discuss how technology is going to speed up our evolution. He notes that through AI and genetic enhancement, “human beings, their physique and character, have not changed for thousands of years, it may change this century”. We have great challenges ahead; for, as our world becomes more connected, a computer virus begins to have the ability to cause disaster, “indeed catastrophe could arise simply from technical misadventure, error rather than terror”.

Humanity has a lot of challenges to face if it is going to survive to see the distant future, but humans are up to the task. Humans are not ones for lying down and accepting death. “The brain stem and amygdala will always do their job of struggling to preserve life at any cost”. When catastrophe strikes, we will fight for the preservation our species and we are intelligent enough to succeed. Sir Martin Rees, although predicting a low probability of survival, believes that we are more than capable of making it. Rees recognizes that “whatever happens in this uniquely crucial century will resonate into the remote future and perhaps far beyond the Earth”. Carl Sagan knows that the next few decades will be a challenge, but he also is confident in humanity because “we humans also have a history of making long-lasting social change that nearly everyone thought impossible”.

We humans tend to think in the short term, and have a hard time imagining many thousands of years, let alone billions. I’m sure many people will look at this and think that the notion of the intelligent beings of the Universe becoming God as blasphemous or impossible. For those who see it as blasphemy, that is their religious view and I can respect that. For those who think it impossible, they are underestimating the grand scale of the future. There is plenty enough future left for an intelligent species to evolve and constantly approach a definition of God. Such beings would hold so much power in the Universe, that they could mold the entirety of space into their own personal Utopia. This is an important idea for us, because being alive in the twenty-first century means that we will be some of the most crucial building blocks to bringing about this future. It is time to take the first steps towards the future by insuring our survival. This is a fight we must begin here and spread into the cosmos, or as Dylan Thomas writes, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light!"

Canadaland Episode II: Attack of the Scones

This is a continuation of the short fiction piece I'm putting together for Blogagon.

"...CKER, EH!" I screamed as the coach flew at what felt like Mach 1 over the beautiful landscape below. I was utterly confused why I said "eh" at the end of that sentence; it felt strangely necessary. I didn't ponder it long though, as this crazy flying coach was scaring me shitless with its reckless maneuvering.

We passed over more hockey arenas and molasses distilleries as we went screaming through the air. To be honest it looked like candy land if someone had spilt their breakfast on it and threw in some moose for good measure. I believe at one point I saw a forest of waffle sticks next to a lake of syrup. It didn't help that Jacques sat over there on the other side of the coach laughing like a madman.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING SO HARD, EH?" Once again that last bit was involuntary, "AND WHY THE FUCK AM I SAYING EH SO MUCH, EH?"

"That is something I never understood about your world, eh. How do you know when your sentences end, eh?"

My good lord, they actually vocalized punctuation here. I realized my anger was getting me nowhere. This Canuck just found it funny. I realized I had to calm down if I ever wanted to get out of this place. "So I'm here for a case, right..." I tried to hold it off, "...eh." It came out like a sneeze.

He stopped his giggling and fell back into a reserved smile. "Yes, I told you I lost something valuable, eh? What I lost was my kingdom, eh"

"Your kingdom, eh?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I have not been totally honest with you, eh. My name is Tim Horton, former King of Canadaland, eh."

"Tim Horton, like the coffee shop, eh?"

"I am assuming you are referring to my foreign embassies, eh? Yes, the delicious Canadian food and drink seems to have reduced anti-Canadian sentiment amongst your people, eh."

"So, who took this government away from you, eh?"

"William Shatner, eh."

"WAIT?! WHAT? EH?!"

Hundreds of miles away in the Castle of Ottawa, sat the new King of Canadaland. "So...whenwill this...castlefly, eh?"

"My lord, this is a castle, it has difficulty going to space, eh."

"Indeed, eh! But, Iwill...soon...have my placeamongst... the cosmos, eh. Is...theCanadaArm, ready, eh?"

"We now have full access my lord, eh."

"Fire photon torpedoes, eh."

"Sure, eh." said his servant as the monitors in the King's chamber showed members of the International Space Station being thrown into space by the CanadaArm.

"Beam me up, eh."

"Sir, how many times to I have to tell you that you'll be flying up, eh."

"There will be more time for questions later Mr. McClane, eh. We are touching down here to transfer airships, the moose require their rest, eh."

We got out of the flying carriage in a town that literally had houses made of molasses cookies. The smell was intoxicating, the cookies were seemingly kept at their fresh-baked odor. "Look, Mr. Horton, I get you have problems but how the hell is a private detective supposed to help, eh?"

Suddenly a baguette went flying past my head and stuck into the wall next to me. I turned to see dozens of people jumping off rooftops and heading towards us. They were, well, they were fucking French. More French than a curly mustache. More French than a beret. More French than socialized medicine. More French than banana tarte tatin. How did I know? They had all of those things.

"You really should not have said my name, eh. The King's agents lurk everywhere, eh."

"Are they all this French, eh?"

"Le Quebecois have been sympathetic towards King Bill, eh."

They were running at us waving their delicious looking desserts threateningly and something inside me snapped. First of all, I hated the French, it's built into by red, white and blue DNA. Second, my anger over Timmy dragging me into this dream world had not receded in the least. Now this hellscape provided me with something to take my anger out on, and bless God they were French!

I tore the baguette out of the wall and met their charge with my own. I yelled as I ran at them with anger, pride and passion mixed into the beautiful sound of glorious battle. "YOU FUCKING FRENCH COMMUNIST FAGGOTS! HERE COMES UNCLE SAM TO EQUALLY DISTRIBUTE YOUR PETITE ASSES ALL OVER THE PAVEMENT!"

They suddenly stopped. "NOUS NOUS REVENONS, EH!" I only understood their surrender based on my own prejudice and the white flag they produced. They ran into the night whimpering in their silly hats. I turned around to find the whole town bowing to me.

"Okay what the fuck? That cannot be the first time you've seen the French surrender."

"ALL HAIL THE ONE, EH!" said the crowd in a very creepy monotone. This must be what it feels like to be Pope. The only one not bowing was Horton.

"What are they doing?"

"I knew you were the one all along, prophesized to save this land, eh."

"The who?"

"The One Who Never Finishes His Sentences, eh."

"Never finishes his wha... Oh I stopped saying 'eh' didn't I?"

"And now you are ready save the world, eh."

TO BE CONTINUED

How Does One Live Long and Kick Ass

MISSION STATEMENT

So I basically made this blog because I thought of the name while talking to Elliot. That is the only reason. I liked the name. A lot...

That being said, now that I've made it I feel a need to post. How have I fulfilled this need? By scouring Facebook and my computer for writings of mine I like. Also I am a member of Blogagon, which is the child of the failed Alfred Writing Club. Instead of meetings we're just all obligated to post weekly writings and this is working for us. I'll be copying writings from there to here as necessary. I'll also post writings that are obscenely big here, so as not to block out others writings on there.

Pic unrelated, but totally badass.

I'll probably also post life stories when it seems relevant. But the main purpose I think is just to get an internet backup and collection of shazzle I find amusing or thoughtful, but usually just absurd and lulzy.

And since this is my blog, occasionally I'll post irrelevant shit. Like the previous post. It amuses me, and I don't need it to amuse you. Whiny bastards. If there even is a you. Personally I'm fine with 0 comments/0 views, I just like the name. That is why I made this. Because I liked the title.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not a big fan of Hemingway.

BABIES

That is all.

Canadaland (A Tale About Violence, Conspiracy and Poutine)

This is a short fiction piece I'm putting together for Blogagon.

I pulled up to the McDonald's in Fort Kent, Maine with a bit of an icy slide from the barely plowed roads. The wind howled with the anger of being so far from decent civilization. I couldn't believe I drove all the way up from Manchester for this. Here I was, an accomplished private detective with a double degree in Badassery and Kicking Ass Whilst Taking Names (individually structured majors taken at the School of Hard Knocks) freezing in this winter hellscape on the edge of the Canadian wasteland.

This town was so close to the border that the McDonald's was actually owned by the Canadian branch of the corporation and the town was officially bilingual. I walked inside where the cashier looked up and said "Bonjour!"

"Parlez-vous anglais, frenchfag?"

She took on an offended look, "This is a bilingual establishment, sir. I understood that."

"Well than Jay swiss day-soul-eh my dear. Just give me a numero un with a coke and make it snappy amigo."

"Would you like poutine with that?"

"I get this place has caught the CanadAIDS, but why would you put pudding on a Big Mac?"

"No sir, poutine. It's french fries with gravy and cheese poured over them."

I must admit I was taken aback by this. Of all of the horrible pinko-French-commie Canadian bull to infect it's way over our precious border, Shania Twain, Mike Myers, that Asian chick from Grey's Anatomy, how has this glorious, all-American, artery-clogging gift of the gods remained trapped in this frozen hell?

"Yes, I would love some pudding. Actually, my fine madam, I would like to order three, extra large. Actually just pour it into the largest Chicken McNugget box you've got back there. Scratch that, I'm going to need a feeding tube. You know, who needs a Big Mac?" My blatant Americanism was consuming me with desire. My exaggerated gesticulations and loud voice were not enough to express my wish to eat this grease pile until my heart literally fucking exploded. I would've probably kept this rant up had I not been tapped on the shoulder.

"Hello, are you Chuck McClane."

"Hell yeah."

"My name is Jacques."

"Commie."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He took a moment to recoil but got back to the point. "I'm the one who hired you. I've lost something very valuable to me and your assistance would be much appreciated."

This communist was talking like I was offering some sort of charity, "Look, I don't take monopoly money Jack."

Jack's palm made swift contact his face as he let out a sigh. "I can pay you in American currency, one hundred thousand dollars of it to be precise."

Well right then Jack gave me one hundred thousand reasons to start being a bit more polite, "So what is it that you are looking for sir?"

"I'll tell you in due time, but first you must come with me." He grabbed my hand and pulled me outside where a horse-drawn carriage awaited us. I almost dropped the approximately two and a half pounds of poutine I'd ordered in the rush.

"Oh what the hell Jack? It's like forty below zero out here, it's so fucking cold you actually make Fahrenheit and Celsius agree with one another! Those horses should be legally dead!"

"Those aren't horses." said Jacques with a slight grin on his face. He was right, this man was putting me in a moose-drawn carriage. The carriage itself was covered in sticky black goop that seemed to have frozen to outside. I got inside and found it to be warm and comforting even though there was no discernible heat source. The smell of maple and molasses thickened the air.
I looked Jackie-boy right in the eye when he got in the carriage, "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"

"We're off my good boy! Off to Canadaland!"

As soon as he finished that sentence the carriage physically lifted off the tarmac and we began to fly toward the Canadian border. "HOLY HELL!" I exclaimed as we began a nosedive into the St. John River. "FOR FUCKS SAKE, IT'S FROZEN YOU CRAZY CANADIAN PINKO-COMMIE BASTAR...."

We hit the ice and passed right on through to the other side. The carriage filled slowly with liquid and I began to panic. Soon I was completely engulfed in it. I thought for sure I was going to die. Then I tasted the liquid and realized it was far too sweet to be water. It was then that I realized that I was drowning in a river of maple syrup.

Suddenly the liquid poured out and I looked out to see it was now a beautiful summer day. The landscape bore the same geography but reversed. The frozen river replaced by a stream of sweet maple syrup. The trees were no longer frozen and dead but vibrant and bearing crepes for leaves. The town below was now a hockey arena with an ecstatic crowd cheering as they drank their Labatt Blue. Jack cleaned off his face of the maple syrup and laughed. "Ha ha, welcome my good sir, to Canadaland!"

"MOTHER FU..."

TO BE CONTINUED