Yes, again it's been a while since I posted, and again, I'm blaming finishing 'Kutztown'. Only 5-6 chapters to go though. Of course, I can also blame Mass Effect.
No Frog?
In the story Mass Effect, there is a race called the Salarians, which resemble large, thin headed frogs. Despite the fact they are geniuses, and have one of the high counsel seats, you never get one in the party. Sure, they're kind of boring, arrogant and cowardly, but that didn't stop the Gungans from dominating 97% of the screen time in Star Wars Episode I (that's how it felt to me, anyway).
It just seems strange that the story sets them up as one of the most powerful races in the galaxy, and then ignores them. They're also known, besides science, to be masters of espionage...master spies that might have the ability to secretly infiltrate one of the members, thanks to plastic surgery, into the human race...
TO BECOME THE FIRST HUMAN SPECTRE!!!
Think about it, the humans will be gratified, while the Salarians secretly control and manipulate the human race! Not even the council will know the truth! It's brilliant! It's feasible! It's...
KERMIT SHEPHARD
Okay, first step is to cut an old green jacket...I mean, give the character the biggest, roundest eyes, then take off all his hair, give him a huge head, erase his chin, scrunch his lips flat, and press his nose directly against his face.
Perfect! No one will ever suspect that he's one of the frog race! Seriously, they don't. Feel free to imagine your best Kermit voice.
...
TURIAN SPECTRE: "You humans aren't ready for the responsibility of being a Spectre."
KERMIT SHEPHARD: "Exactly! That's what I've been saying for all these..."
TURIAN: "..."
K.S.: "I mean...YOU'RE WRONG!"
...
K.S.: "This is my ship, and I can bellow orders with the best of them!"
ADMIRAL: "Are you sucking in helium when I'm not looking?"
K.S.: "Uh...yes."
...
Ashley: "Hello."
K.S.: "Do you want to drop your egg sack so I can fertilize it?"
Ashley: "Huh?"
K.S.: "I mean...how's it going...baby?"
...
Bad Guy: "The human race will be destroyed!"
K.S.: "Not if I can enslave them!"
Bad Guy: "What?"
K.S.: "I mean..."
*CHECKS SALARIAN TO ENGLISH DICTIONARY*
K.S.: "Fuck you!"
...
Liara: "I'm developing feelings for you."
K.S.: "Wait...I uh, have forgotten if humans are monogamous or not."
Liara: "Really? That seems like something you wouldn't forget."
K.S.: "Yeah, would you believe it? Well, let me check my handy list of human history, and see if they...I mean we are monogamous."
*CHECKS DATA PAD*
K.S.: "Wow, those are overwhelming numbers. Apparently we can have sex, but I just can't tell the other woman involved."
Liara: "Really? Can I sleep with Kaiden too?"
K.S.: "Oh sure! Just don't tell me afterwards. It's all here in the data pad. Want to go mate in the medical closet?"
Liara: "We are in the medical closet...I kind of live here."
K.S.: "Cool! Now where's your egg sack again?"
...
Liara: "After melding minds, I saw..."
*K.S. slowly draws gun*
Liara: "It's all so blurry..."
*Casually cleans sniper rifle, pointed at Liara's head*
Liara: "It's information on the reavers!"
*Juggles grenades*
Liara: "And nothing else!"
K.S.: "Oh thank God, I thought you were going to figure out I'm..."
*Everyone stares*
K.S.: "...gay. Yes, that's an appropriate response given the context."
...
COUNCIL: "You've just committed genocide, exterminating an entire race!"
*K.S. waves arms in air*
Kermit Shephard: "YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Saturday, February 02, 2008
HOLY CRAP!
Wow! It's really been a month since I've posted? Sorry everyone, I just got wrapped up trying to finish my novel, 'Kutztown'.
For those that don't know, I've been working on it for over two years, and although it's finished, it needs plenty of editing. I really didn't mean it to drag on (Brian Griffin style), but every six months or so I'd realize I'd gotten a lot better at writing, and have to re-write it again.
Well, here's the link to what I've finished editing so far:
http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1286932
The other news is I'm getting published in Mississippi Crow again, this time for the story 'The Problem with Magic', which also won an award from www.writing.com
Enjoy!
...
THE PROBLEM WITH MAGIC
The problem with magic, as any spellcaster can tell you, is that it leaves precious little time for anything else.
When the more mundane apprentices were wrapping up their daily work, the wizards were simply beginning.
While the young craftsmen and squires gathered at the local tavern, trading their best goblin jokes, and enjoying a well deserved (and usually watered down) ale, the warlocks and witches in training were mastering their incantations.
When the other apprentices were tired of their revelry, and flopping into bed…well, the wizards were doing the same thing, actually, only without the preceding revelry. On a normal day they'd usually go straight from work to bed. Well, all of them except Maya, of course.
Maya was always in bed a few hours earlier. That way she could get up exactly at dawn, a few hours before classes began. While all the other sorcerers in training were snoozing away in their beds, Maya was already up, dressed, and running laps around the school. She loved the crisp cold air of the morning, and running made her feel fully rejuvenated and alive.
Eventually, the bells for morning study and preparation would ring through the school, to wake up the rest of the children. Maya was always careful to listen for this bell, because she knew that when it rang, it was time to stop fooling around, and REALLY start working out.
She’d tumble, climb up walls, jump rope, do push-ups, shadow box, and muse over which class she’d skip that day. Maya would never have been able to pass her classes if she skipped too many, so she had to be careful to skip only one class each day and never the same class more than once a week. This left her absenteeism high, but not cripplingly so.
What would she do in that class period? Why, homework, of course! She’d race to the nearest student lounge, whip out her books, and do the bare minimum amount of work required to pass each class. In the early afternoon, when all the other students were doing their homework, she was reading. Sometimes she would read about magic, but was far more likely to be reading something for enjoyment, or to expand her horizons. By the time the other apprentices were practicing their evening spell casting, Maya was already in bed.
To put it bluntly, Maya was the school's worst student. Oh sure, there were kids who failed, but they were always gone within the first week or two. Any student that couldn’t keep up with the class work, or adequately cast spells, had no way of making it to the last year and graduating.
In order to pass, succeed and graduate, you had to push yourself to the limit and apply yourself to magic completely and utterly, for nearly every single moment of the day.
Well, that’s what the professors always told the students, at least, and it was mostly true. The only other possible option was to figure out the exact minimum standards of the school, and make sure you consistently met them every year until you graduated.
Maya only had three more months to go, and graduating was more or less certain. What wasn’t certain was the Grand Wizard Challenge.
“You’re pathetic, you know that?”
Maya didn’t stop to answer Fiona, not when she was so close to finishing her homework. She merely left her roommate standing at the lounge door, with her short, pointy nose turned upwards in a sneer. When it became apparent that Maya wasn’t going to answer, Fiona continued her prepared speech,
“You can’t just coast through classes! Do you like wasting your parents' money?”
Maya stopped writing. She was finished with her work, and could finally respond to Fiona, if she chose to. She chose not to.
Fiona rolled her eyes, moved her hands from left to right, fingertips flexing into the appropriate contortions, and then exhaled deeply, causing the air to suddenly chill. With another careful wave of her slender limbs, purple magical energy enveloped the cold air, and with a final whisper from Fiona’s lips, formed the cold vapor into a small statue of a swan, about the size of her own fist, directly in front of Maya, on her desk.
Maya tapped the small statue of ice once, and then went back to her notes. Fiona became even more vexed then before,
“What? Can you match my magical powers?”
As Maya re-tied her long, red ponytail, she grudingly replied,
“That? No, I can’t ice sculpt swans with magic. Just think, the next time I'm ambushed by a school of tiny, fiery fish, I'll be completely defenseless.”
Fiona shook her head in rage and contempt. Fiona normally wouldn’t have cared, but Maya was her roommate, and being associated with her in any way was making her embarrassed.
“Why did you even come to this school?”
That struck Maya as a silly question,
“What did I come to the ‘magic’ school for? Was it carpentry? Law? Magic, perhaps?”
“You never learned anything past the basics!”
Maya allowed herself a small smile, as she replied,
“The basic spells are the most useful ones. Everything else is just icing on the cake.”
Fiona pointed an accusing finger at the swan.
“Maya, you’re the worst sorceress in school! Can you even undo the spell I just cast?”
Maya pointed at the ice swan, and inquired,
“What, this?”
“YES!”
“Oh, sure.”
With a short swing of her arm, Maya flattened the statue with her palm. Despite Maya's happy compliance, Fiona seemed enraged for some reason.
“WITH MAGIC!”
“Why?”
The mere question affronted Fiona.
“WHY?!”
Maya nodded, and continued,
“Why should I waste years learning spells that aren’t useful? Why learn a spell to move objects around a room, when you could simply stand up and move them by hand? Why do you, Fiona, summon birds to fly through your window every morning, just to help fix your hair, and adjust your clothes? I’m right there, Fiona! All you have to do is ask, and I’ll button your dress up for you.”
Fiona got more worked up then ever before. Maya was no longer a mere annoyance, but a complete affront to everything Fiona founded her tremendous ego upon. Fiona whipped her golden hair over her shoulder, and then marched adamantly over to Maya, who stood as she approached.
Fiona slowed her pace a bit, forced to respect the fact that while she had a slender, petite frame, Maya’s stature was far more ‘common’ and ‘peasant-like’.
In other words, Maya had almost a foot of height on Fiona, and weighed fifty or so pounds more as well, all of it muscle. Fiona smirked, and called out, sarcastically,
“Are you going to knock me over?”
Maya casually inquired,
“Could you stop me?”
Fiona took on her normal, haughty demeanor as she proclaimed,
“I have over twenty protective auras at my command that would…”
Without warning, Maya snapped an arm forwards, stopping a few inches in front of Fiona's face. Curiously, Fiona cast none of her protective auras, and stumbled backwards instead, nearly falling over a desk.
“That’s quite a unique spell you've got there, Fiona. I swear, it almost looked like you were falling on your…”
Fiona snapped both fingers, and the room filled with shadows. The slim, willowy sorceress became wreathed in dark, billowing spirals of smoke, as she cried out,
“JUST YOU WAIT, MAYA! THE GRAND WIZARD CHALLENGE WILL COME AND YOU’LL BE HUMILIATED, BY ME, IN FRONT OF EVERYONE, INCLUDING YOUR PARENTS!!!”
Maya sneered, but said nothing.
“WHAT SPELLS WILL YOU USE THEN, MISS ‘JUST-E-NUFF’? WHAT SPELLS CAN YOU ACTUALLY CAST WELL?!”
Maya’s thin lips broke into a half smile,
“Well, there’s this one.”
Fireworks. Maya had always been good with fireworks. Fiona mistook the harmless eruptions of light as an attack, and ran directly out the room, panicked.
This left Maya alone, to consider her roommate’s words. Damn it. The challenge. Bowing out was always an option, but she refused to give Fiona that satisfaction, nor the satisfaction of humiliating her in the arena.
The challenge was open to every one of the graduating, seventeen year old wizards who wanted to participate, and usually drew about forty participants on average. The arena would be magically charmed to prevent any real, lasting injuries from the spells, so there was no reason for anyone to hold back. Everyone would bring the very best they had, and those who were serious about winning would craft and practice spells in secret, to leave their opponents unprepared.
That night, as Maya brushed off the passive aggressive notes Fiona had left on her bed, an idea came to her. For better or worse, she decided it was her best shot.
The next day, Maya rose as she always had, but instead of doing her normal daily exercise, she instead traveled into the nearby forest. After a week, many other students were rising early as well, to also practice for the grand competition, but none of them traveled as secretly, or as far as Maya. Rumors began to pass through the school, and although the more talented wizards scoffed, everyone was a little mystified and perplexed by the weird sounds and lights that randomly emitted from the forest.
Fiona had managed to get other people calling Maya, 'Miss Just-e-nuff’ as well, but it hadn't diminished her classmates' interest in Maya's secret spell training. What spell could she possibly be working on? What magic could possibly make up for her other deficiencies? Student and teacher alike traded their own ideas, and the possibilities seemed endless.
A freshman would describe Maya turning into a T-Rex and gobbling up her opponents. A slightly more reasonable sophomore wondered if the arena would blow up. The popular opinion was that it would set the school on fire, causing everyone but her to run out, allowing her to claim victory by retreat, but the teachers dismissed that rumor, pointing out that the grand challenge did have some rules, albeit merely a few.
Fiona wasn’t willing to wait to find out, and kept trying to follow her into the forest, but found it wasn't as easy as she expected. By the time Fiona cast a spell to allow her to teleport, run faster, or fly, Maya was already out of sight. All Fiona could do was run, but would always lose her breath, and have to give up. Maya could have easily outrun her in just a few seconds, but she intentionally slowed down, to keep Fiona running as long as possible.
In the deepest, darkest corner of the forest, Maya practiced for the competition. She kept repeating the proper steps and movements for months, until she them down perfect, and the resulting effect was exactly the same as the one she had envisioned, as she brushed away Fiona’s notes.
The day of graduation, all was fanfare, magically created confetti (no cleaning up required), music, and celebration, but the ancient graduation ceremonies seemed to be little more than a footnote, leading up to the great event, where each young spellcaster got to show their families, friends and rivals alike, exactly how much they learned at the academy.
The turnout for the main event was smaller than anticipated, with only thirty-two graduates lined up for the arena. As a general rule, those that didn’t want to participate were given ample chance to discreetly leave, and with no dishonor to their name. Even though their safety was assured, the pain and humiliation of the arena were all too real.
Maya let the other wizards go out first, displaying minor spells and their special outfits for the crowd. All weapons were barred, of course, as were any magical objects, but the judge’s detection spells found none among the competitors..
Most of the other spellcasters wore special outfits bought specifically for the occasion, but Maya preferred her normal outfit, and she spent the time before the match mostly stretching, as the other wizards checked notes.
Fiona was the last to leave before Maya, and wore a billowing silver dress that seemed far more appropriate for a grand ball, than a battle. A large dress like that can hide quite a bit, though. Earlier in the week, Maya overheard her former roommate whisper the words 'fireproof' and 'magic wards' to a friend. Both were completely against the rules, but not impossible to hide from the judges.
Before leaving, Fiona gave a parting shot,
“Whatever crazy spell you’re intending to use…it won’t work. You’re not good enough.”
Fiona deliberately left before Maya could answer, and greeted the loud cheers and appreciative whistles of the arena. The teachers, sitting along the first row of the encircling crowd, were betting that Fiona would make it to the last three, with Maya lasting until the middle, mostly from good physical conditioning. In fact, they had already decided to give Maya a ‘good sportsmanship’ award, after the match was over.
Even though the battle hadn't started, Maya was already jogging, to keep limber. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and eventually located her incredibly huge extended family. They cheered and waved less formally than most of the crowd, and it made Maya smile. Despite the happiness of seeing them, Maya knew in her heart that she wasn't doing it for them. This was for her.
There were no official starting areas, and the match always started without warning, with the start of the official gong.
BONG!
And there you go.
Maya broke out into a full run, at first doing nothing except running, and looking for potential attackers. The other competitors all either prepared defensive spells, as was normal, or went all out on the offensive, which was not normal. The professors noted amongst themselves that the opening was far more aggressive then normal…possibly even downright cruel.
As the weaker competitors evoked protective barriers, the more powerful wizards threw everything they had in virtually every direction, eager to take out as many opponents as possible before they were even ready. The professors had to admit, the strategy worked, as more than half of the wizards fell within the first few minutes, falling to large blasts of fire, swarms of vicious insects, giant stony fists reaching out of the ground, and the most vicious of all, countless flying shards of ice.
Fiona’s icy blasts threw many of the competitors off, not taking enough damage to really be hurt, but more than enough to break their concentration, forcing them to dodge and retreat. To make it worse, her spells made the arena grow considerably colder as well, causing many of the casters to become cripplingly distracted.
Maya, who had the foresight to wear a few extra layers, continued her steady pace. At first, none of the attacks were directed at her, as she wasn’t casting spells at them, but when the number of wizards in the arena began to dwindle, Fiona lashed out in her ex-roommate's direction.
The shards of ice struck Maya's side, slamming her into the arena wall, and dropping her off her feet. Maya's face flushed red as she leaped up, shook off the pain, and continued to run. She wasn't ready to reveal her secret weapon just yet.
The other competitors took advantage of Fiona's distraction, and fired a few spells into her back, most of them fire based, which was the most popular. Fiona shrugged off the spells alarmingly well...almost too well, and fired frigid blasts of cold back at them. Not many wizards used ice, so not many were prepared for it.
As Fiona finished off her attackers, Boris, another student expected to last to the final three, took advantage of the distraction, and cast a particularly difficult spell, which summoned a minor demon to fight for him.
The crowd recoiled in shock and terror, as the demon appeared, with a black cloud of smoke. The demon was misshapen, green and covered in twisted horns. The young women in the crowd all began to point, scream and press themselves into the arms of the person next to them, which Maya considered a bit extreme, given that the demon was slightly smaller than your average dog.
It did wonders for distracting Fiona though, who screamed and backpedaled at the sight of the small imp. That was the moment that Maya had been waiting for. It was time to reveal her secret weapon.
She continued to run, but instead of circling around the arena, she began to encircle Matthew, the smallest of her opponents, and a talented water mage. Matthew was unsure what spell to expect from Maya, and decided to attack first, to hopefully knock her out. He raised his hand, whispered a few incantations and as he twiddled his fingers, a geyser of water erupted from his palm.
Maya ran as quickly as her legs would take her, and Matthew kept missing, mostly due to the fact he was aiming for the spot she was in, rather than the spot she would be when the geyser reached her.
As his spell began to fizzle, Maya turned to face him, and raised her arms into the air. Every member of the audience held their breath in anticipation, as they awaited the sight of Maya’s spell…
Every morning for a month, when Maya was certain no one could see her, she would prepare in secret for the Great Wizard Challenge…
Maya arched herself toward Matthew, and dashed directly towards him.
...by running...
The entire crowd winced when Maya's shoulder landed against Matthew's abdomen with enough force to send the small boy straight to the ground. Matthew uttered small incantations, causing water to spray randomly around the arena, like a misfiring fountain. He would not get up anytime soon.
A flash of light caught Maya's attention.
...tumbling...
Maya barely managed to cart-wheel out of the way of a giant fiery blast, fired by Ronnie, the largest of the remaining opponents. As he readied another spell, Maya ran towards the outer wall. Her opponent gave out a cry, as a furious inferno erupted from his arm, directly towards her.
...climbing...
At first, Ronnie assumed that Maya had cast either an invisibility or teleportation spell, as she was nowhere to be seen. He began to focus his attention on the rest of the arena, as the audience attempted to direct his attention to Maya, who had scaled directly up the arena wall. She stared down at her opponent, below her.
...jumping...
The crowd gave another collective wince when Maya landed directly on top of Ronnie, knees first. Her opponent crashed to the ground painfully, and began tapping his hand upon the arena floor, in surrender.
On the other side of the arena, Boris’ summoned demon, and Fiona’s storm of ice, had gotten every other opponent to surrender, leaving only the two of them and Maya left in the competition.
Boris wasn’t too intimidated by Maya’s display of force, and decided to counter with one of his own. With a small motion of his hand, he ordered his imp to leap upon her, as he countered Fiona's spells. Even Maya couldn’t ignore the furious monster, which leaped upon her with surprising strength. Boris smiled smugly to himself, and began to summon another demon.
...doing push-ups...
With both hands, Maya hurled the green imp off of her, sending it flying directly across Boris's face, knocking him senseless. After a moment, he managed to order the imp to attack Maya again.
The imp then came to the sudden realization...that Boris was the one who had summoned him away from his wonderful dark pit, and forced him to fight. It decided to vent its rage upon its summoner, instead, landing blow after blow against his face, in manic glee.
Maya ran towards Fiona, directly into a cone of icy shards. She kept running. Fiona's face went red, and she fired the best of her spells, but Maya just shrugged off the icy pain, and kept running.
That was it. That was the last straw. Fiona couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t even concentrate enough to cast a spell. She was too angry! This couldn’t be happening! She wouldn’t let this happen!
Fiona ended her spell, and furiously shrieked,
"YOU CAN’T DO THIS! THIS ISN’T MAGIC! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED! I FORBID..."
...and shadowboxing.
Maya’s left hook landed directly upon Fiona’s temple, which stunned the enchantress long enough for Maya to send a right blow into her abdomen. Fiona staggered backwards, and was completely unprepared for Maya's brutal uppercut, which sent the enchantress flying into the air, with her high heeled shoes literally flying off her feet.
The arena went dead silent.
Maya wiped the sweat from her brow, rubbed her bruised knuckles, and grinned from ear to ear.
Seeing that none of the other professors were moving, the oldest of the wizard council made his way to the arena floor, trophy in hand. He handed Maya the trophy and shook her hand, as he had done every year for fifty years. He forced a serious expression upon his face, uncertain as to whether he wanted to laugh or cry, and gave Maya the customary commendation,
“Well done, young lady. Here is your award for…”
He went on with his speech, but Maya didn’t care. It wasn’t about the award or prestige. It was for her.
Still, she couldn’t help but notice that the audience, her own family included, was stunned into a completely motionless state. It was time to shake them out of it.
Maya raised her hands into the air, not waiting for the administrator to finish, and fired countless fireworks from her fingers, filling the top of the arena with brilliant, colorful explosions of light.
Her family broke out of their frozen state, and cheered frantically for their dear Maya, as her fireworks continually erupted in celebration.
When you're the best, it's the only spell you need.
Wow! It's really been a month since I've posted? Sorry everyone, I just got wrapped up trying to finish my novel, 'Kutztown'.
For those that don't know, I've been working on it for over two years, and although it's finished, it needs plenty of editing. I really didn't mean it to drag on (Brian Griffin style), but every six months or so I'd realize I'd gotten a lot better at writing, and have to re-write it again.
Well, here's the link to what I've finished editing so far:
http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1286932
The other news is I'm getting published in Mississippi Crow again, this time for the story 'The Problem with Magic', which also won an award from www.writing.com
Enjoy!
...
THE PROBLEM WITH MAGIC
The problem with magic, as any spellcaster can tell you, is that it leaves precious little time for anything else.
When the more mundane apprentices were wrapping up their daily work, the wizards were simply beginning.
While the young craftsmen and squires gathered at the local tavern, trading their best goblin jokes, and enjoying a well deserved (and usually watered down) ale, the warlocks and witches in training were mastering their incantations.
When the other apprentices were tired of their revelry, and flopping into bed…well, the wizards were doing the same thing, actually, only without the preceding revelry. On a normal day they'd usually go straight from work to bed. Well, all of them except Maya, of course.
Maya was always in bed a few hours earlier. That way she could get up exactly at dawn, a few hours before classes began. While all the other sorcerers in training were snoozing away in their beds, Maya was already up, dressed, and running laps around the school. She loved the crisp cold air of the morning, and running made her feel fully rejuvenated and alive.
Eventually, the bells for morning study and preparation would ring through the school, to wake up the rest of the children. Maya was always careful to listen for this bell, because she knew that when it rang, it was time to stop fooling around, and REALLY start working out.
She’d tumble, climb up walls, jump rope, do push-ups, shadow box, and muse over which class she’d skip that day. Maya would never have been able to pass her classes if she skipped too many, so she had to be careful to skip only one class each day and never the same class more than once a week. This left her absenteeism high, but not cripplingly so.
What would she do in that class period? Why, homework, of course! She’d race to the nearest student lounge, whip out her books, and do the bare minimum amount of work required to pass each class. In the early afternoon, when all the other students were doing their homework, she was reading. Sometimes she would read about magic, but was far more likely to be reading something for enjoyment, or to expand her horizons. By the time the other apprentices were practicing their evening spell casting, Maya was already in bed.
To put it bluntly, Maya was the school's worst student. Oh sure, there were kids who failed, but they were always gone within the first week or two. Any student that couldn’t keep up with the class work, or adequately cast spells, had no way of making it to the last year and graduating.
In order to pass, succeed and graduate, you had to push yourself to the limit and apply yourself to magic completely and utterly, for nearly every single moment of the day.
Well, that’s what the professors always told the students, at least, and it was mostly true. The only other possible option was to figure out the exact minimum standards of the school, and make sure you consistently met them every year until you graduated.
Maya only had three more months to go, and graduating was more or less certain. What wasn’t certain was the Grand Wizard Challenge.
“You’re pathetic, you know that?”
Maya didn’t stop to answer Fiona, not when she was so close to finishing her homework. She merely left her roommate standing at the lounge door, with her short, pointy nose turned upwards in a sneer. When it became apparent that Maya wasn’t going to answer, Fiona continued her prepared speech,
“You can’t just coast through classes! Do you like wasting your parents' money?”
Maya stopped writing. She was finished with her work, and could finally respond to Fiona, if she chose to. She chose not to.
Fiona rolled her eyes, moved her hands from left to right, fingertips flexing into the appropriate contortions, and then exhaled deeply, causing the air to suddenly chill. With another careful wave of her slender limbs, purple magical energy enveloped the cold air, and with a final whisper from Fiona’s lips, formed the cold vapor into a small statue of a swan, about the size of her own fist, directly in front of Maya, on her desk.
Maya tapped the small statue of ice once, and then went back to her notes. Fiona became even more vexed then before,
“What? Can you match my magical powers?”
As Maya re-tied her long, red ponytail, she grudingly replied,
“That? No, I can’t ice sculpt swans with magic. Just think, the next time I'm ambushed by a school of tiny, fiery fish, I'll be completely defenseless.”
Fiona shook her head in rage and contempt. Fiona normally wouldn’t have cared, but Maya was her roommate, and being associated with her in any way was making her embarrassed.
“Why did you even come to this school?”
That struck Maya as a silly question,
“What did I come to the ‘magic’ school for? Was it carpentry? Law? Magic, perhaps?”
“You never learned anything past the basics!”
Maya allowed herself a small smile, as she replied,
“The basic spells are the most useful ones. Everything else is just icing on the cake.”
Fiona pointed an accusing finger at the swan.
“Maya, you’re the worst sorceress in school! Can you even undo the spell I just cast?”
Maya pointed at the ice swan, and inquired,
“What, this?”
“YES!”
“Oh, sure.”
With a short swing of her arm, Maya flattened the statue with her palm. Despite Maya's happy compliance, Fiona seemed enraged for some reason.
“WITH MAGIC!”
“Why?”
The mere question affronted Fiona.
“WHY?!”
Maya nodded, and continued,
“Why should I waste years learning spells that aren’t useful? Why learn a spell to move objects around a room, when you could simply stand up and move them by hand? Why do you, Fiona, summon birds to fly through your window every morning, just to help fix your hair, and adjust your clothes? I’m right there, Fiona! All you have to do is ask, and I’ll button your dress up for you.”
Fiona got more worked up then ever before. Maya was no longer a mere annoyance, but a complete affront to everything Fiona founded her tremendous ego upon. Fiona whipped her golden hair over her shoulder, and then marched adamantly over to Maya, who stood as she approached.
Fiona slowed her pace a bit, forced to respect the fact that while she had a slender, petite frame, Maya’s stature was far more ‘common’ and ‘peasant-like’.
In other words, Maya had almost a foot of height on Fiona, and weighed fifty or so pounds more as well, all of it muscle. Fiona smirked, and called out, sarcastically,
“Are you going to knock me over?”
Maya casually inquired,
“Could you stop me?”
Fiona took on her normal, haughty demeanor as she proclaimed,
“I have over twenty protective auras at my command that would…”
Without warning, Maya snapped an arm forwards, stopping a few inches in front of Fiona's face. Curiously, Fiona cast none of her protective auras, and stumbled backwards instead, nearly falling over a desk.
“That’s quite a unique spell you've got there, Fiona. I swear, it almost looked like you were falling on your…”
Fiona snapped both fingers, and the room filled with shadows. The slim, willowy sorceress became wreathed in dark, billowing spirals of smoke, as she cried out,
“JUST YOU WAIT, MAYA! THE GRAND WIZARD CHALLENGE WILL COME AND YOU’LL BE HUMILIATED, BY ME, IN FRONT OF EVERYONE, INCLUDING YOUR PARENTS!!!”
Maya sneered, but said nothing.
“WHAT SPELLS WILL YOU USE THEN, MISS ‘JUST-E-NUFF’? WHAT SPELLS CAN YOU ACTUALLY CAST WELL?!”
Maya’s thin lips broke into a half smile,
“Well, there’s this one.”
Fireworks. Maya had always been good with fireworks. Fiona mistook the harmless eruptions of light as an attack, and ran directly out the room, panicked.
This left Maya alone, to consider her roommate’s words. Damn it. The challenge. Bowing out was always an option, but she refused to give Fiona that satisfaction, nor the satisfaction of humiliating her in the arena.
The challenge was open to every one of the graduating, seventeen year old wizards who wanted to participate, and usually drew about forty participants on average. The arena would be magically charmed to prevent any real, lasting injuries from the spells, so there was no reason for anyone to hold back. Everyone would bring the very best they had, and those who were serious about winning would craft and practice spells in secret, to leave their opponents unprepared.
That night, as Maya brushed off the passive aggressive notes Fiona had left on her bed, an idea came to her. For better or worse, she decided it was her best shot.
The next day, Maya rose as she always had, but instead of doing her normal daily exercise, she instead traveled into the nearby forest. After a week, many other students were rising early as well, to also practice for the grand competition, but none of them traveled as secretly, or as far as Maya. Rumors began to pass through the school, and although the more talented wizards scoffed, everyone was a little mystified and perplexed by the weird sounds and lights that randomly emitted from the forest.
Fiona had managed to get other people calling Maya, 'Miss Just-e-nuff’ as well, but it hadn't diminished her classmates' interest in Maya's secret spell training. What spell could she possibly be working on? What magic could possibly make up for her other deficiencies? Student and teacher alike traded their own ideas, and the possibilities seemed endless.
A freshman would describe Maya turning into a T-Rex and gobbling up her opponents. A slightly more reasonable sophomore wondered if the arena would blow up. The popular opinion was that it would set the school on fire, causing everyone but her to run out, allowing her to claim victory by retreat, but the teachers dismissed that rumor, pointing out that the grand challenge did have some rules, albeit merely a few.
Fiona wasn’t willing to wait to find out, and kept trying to follow her into the forest, but found it wasn't as easy as she expected. By the time Fiona cast a spell to allow her to teleport, run faster, or fly, Maya was already out of sight. All Fiona could do was run, but would always lose her breath, and have to give up. Maya could have easily outrun her in just a few seconds, but she intentionally slowed down, to keep Fiona running as long as possible.
In the deepest, darkest corner of the forest, Maya practiced for the competition. She kept repeating the proper steps and movements for months, until she them down perfect, and the resulting effect was exactly the same as the one she had envisioned, as she brushed away Fiona’s notes.
The day of graduation, all was fanfare, magically created confetti (no cleaning up required), music, and celebration, but the ancient graduation ceremonies seemed to be little more than a footnote, leading up to the great event, where each young spellcaster got to show their families, friends and rivals alike, exactly how much they learned at the academy.
The turnout for the main event was smaller than anticipated, with only thirty-two graduates lined up for the arena. As a general rule, those that didn’t want to participate were given ample chance to discreetly leave, and with no dishonor to their name. Even though their safety was assured, the pain and humiliation of the arena were all too real.
Maya let the other wizards go out first, displaying minor spells and their special outfits for the crowd. All weapons were barred, of course, as were any magical objects, but the judge’s detection spells found none among the competitors..
Most of the other spellcasters wore special outfits bought specifically for the occasion, but Maya preferred her normal outfit, and she spent the time before the match mostly stretching, as the other wizards checked notes.
Fiona was the last to leave before Maya, and wore a billowing silver dress that seemed far more appropriate for a grand ball, than a battle. A large dress like that can hide quite a bit, though. Earlier in the week, Maya overheard her former roommate whisper the words 'fireproof' and 'magic wards' to a friend. Both were completely against the rules, but not impossible to hide from the judges.
Before leaving, Fiona gave a parting shot,
“Whatever crazy spell you’re intending to use…it won’t work. You’re not good enough.”
Fiona deliberately left before Maya could answer, and greeted the loud cheers and appreciative whistles of the arena. The teachers, sitting along the first row of the encircling crowd, were betting that Fiona would make it to the last three, with Maya lasting until the middle, mostly from good physical conditioning. In fact, they had already decided to give Maya a ‘good sportsmanship’ award, after the match was over.
Even though the battle hadn't started, Maya was already jogging, to keep limber. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and eventually located her incredibly huge extended family. They cheered and waved less formally than most of the crowd, and it made Maya smile. Despite the happiness of seeing them, Maya knew in her heart that she wasn't doing it for them. This was for her.
There were no official starting areas, and the match always started without warning, with the start of the official gong.
BONG!
And there you go.
Maya broke out into a full run, at first doing nothing except running, and looking for potential attackers. The other competitors all either prepared defensive spells, as was normal, or went all out on the offensive, which was not normal. The professors noted amongst themselves that the opening was far more aggressive then normal…possibly even downright cruel.
As the weaker competitors evoked protective barriers, the more powerful wizards threw everything they had in virtually every direction, eager to take out as many opponents as possible before they were even ready. The professors had to admit, the strategy worked, as more than half of the wizards fell within the first few minutes, falling to large blasts of fire, swarms of vicious insects, giant stony fists reaching out of the ground, and the most vicious of all, countless flying shards of ice.
Fiona’s icy blasts threw many of the competitors off, not taking enough damage to really be hurt, but more than enough to break their concentration, forcing them to dodge and retreat. To make it worse, her spells made the arena grow considerably colder as well, causing many of the casters to become cripplingly distracted.
Maya, who had the foresight to wear a few extra layers, continued her steady pace. At first, none of the attacks were directed at her, as she wasn’t casting spells at them, but when the number of wizards in the arena began to dwindle, Fiona lashed out in her ex-roommate's direction.
The shards of ice struck Maya's side, slamming her into the arena wall, and dropping her off her feet. Maya's face flushed red as she leaped up, shook off the pain, and continued to run. She wasn't ready to reveal her secret weapon just yet.
The other competitors took advantage of Fiona's distraction, and fired a few spells into her back, most of them fire based, which was the most popular. Fiona shrugged off the spells alarmingly well...almost too well, and fired frigid blasts of cold back at them. Not many wizards used ice, so not many were prepared for it.
As Fiona finished off her attackers, Boris, another student expected to last to the final three, took advantage of the distraction, and cast a particularly difficult spell, which summoned a minor demon to fight for him.
The crowd recoiled in shock and terror, as the demon appeared, with a black cloud of smoke. The demon was misshapen, green and covered in twisted horns. The young women in the crowd all began to point, scream and press themselves into the arms of the person next to them, which Maya considered a bit extreme, given that the demon was slightly smaller than your average dog.
It did wonders for distracting Fiona though, who screamed and backpedaled at the sight of the small imp. That was the moment that Maya had been waiting for. It was time to reveal her secret weapon.
She continued to run, but instead of circling around the arena, she began to encircle Matthew, the smallest of her opponents, and a talented water mage. Matthew was unsure what spell to expect from Maya, and decided to attack first, to hopefully knock her out. He raised his hand, whispered a few incantations and as he twiddled his fingers, a geyser of water erupted from his palm.
Maya ran as quickly as her legs would take her, and Matthew kept missing, mostly due to the fact he was aiming for the spot she was in, rather than the spot she would be when the geyser reached her.
As his spell began to fizzle, Maya turned to face him, and raised her arms into the air. Every member of the audience held their breath in anticipation, as they awaited the sight of Maya’s spell…
Every morning for a month, when Maya was certain no one could see her, she would prepare in secret for the Great Wizard Challenge…
Maya arched herself toward Matthew, and dashed directly towards him.
...by running...
The entire crowd winced when Maya's shoulder landed against Matthew's abdomen with enough force to send the small boy straight to the ground. Matthew uttered small incantations, causing water to spray randomly around the arena, like a misfiring fountain. He would not get up anytime soon.
A flash of light caught Maya's attention.
...tumbling...
Maya barely managed to cart-wheel out of the way of a giant fiery blast, fired by Ronnie, the largest of the remaining opponents. As he readied another spell, Maya ran towards the outer wall. Her opponent gave out a cry, as a furious inferno erupted from his arm, directly towards her.
...climbing...
At first, Ronnie assumed that Maya had cast either an invisibility or teleportation spell, as she was nowhere to be seen. He began to focus his attention on the rest of the arena, as the audience attempted to direct his attention to Maya, who had scaled directly up the arena wall. She stared down at her opponent, below her.
...jumping...
The crowd gave another collective wince when Maya landed directly on top of Ronnie, knees first. Her opponent crashed to the ground painfully, and began tapping his hand upon the arena floor, in surrender.
On the other side of the arena, Boris’ summoned demon, and Fiona’s storm of ice, had gotten every other opponent to surrender, leaving only the two of them and Maya left in the competition.
Boris wasn’t too intimidated by Maya’s display of force, and decided to counter with one of his own. With a small motion of his hand, he ordered his imp to leap upon her, as he countered Fiona's spells. Even Maya couldn’t ignore the furious monster, which leaped upon her with surprising strength. Boris smiled smugly to himself, and began to summon another demon.
...doing push-ups...
With both hands, Maya hurled the green imp off of her, sending it flying directly across Boris's face, knocking him senseless. After a moment, he managed to order the imp to attack Maya again.
The imp then came to the sudden realization...that Boris was the one who had summoned him away from his wonderful dark pit, and forced him to fight. It decided to vent its rage upon its summoner, instead, landing blow after blow against his face, in manic glee.
Maya ran towards Fiona, directly into a cone of icy shards. She kept running. Fiona's face went red, and she fired the best of her spells, but Maya just shrugged off the icy pain, and kept running.
That was it. That was the last straw. Fiona couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t even concentrate enough to cast a spell. She was too angry! This couldn’t be happening! She wouldn’t let this happen!
Fiona ended her spell, and furiously shrieked,
"YOU CAN’T DO THIS! THIS ISN’T MAGIC! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED! I FORBID..."
...and shadowboxing.
Maya’s left hook landed directly upon Fiona’s temple, which stunned the enchantress long enough for Maya to send a right blow into her abdomen. Fiona staggered backwards, and was completely unprepared for Maya's brutal uppercut, which sent the enchantress flying into the air, with her high heeled shoes literally flying off her feet.
The arena went dead silent.
Maya wiped the sweat from her brow, rubbed her bruised knuckles, and grinned from ear to ear.
Seeing that none of the other professors were moving, the oldest of the wizard council made his way to the arena floor, trophy in hand. He handed Maya the trophy and shook her hand, as he had done every year for fifty years. He forced a serious expression upon his face, uncertain as to whether he wanted to laugh or cry, and gave Maya the customary commendation,
“Well done, young lady. Here is your award for…”
He went on with his speech, but Maya didn’t care. It wasn’t about the award or prestige. It was for her.
Still, she couldn’t help but notice that the audience, her own family included, was stunned into a completely motionless state. It was time to shake them out of it.
Maya raised her hands into the air, not waiting for the administrator to finish, and fired countless fireworks from her fingers, filling the top of the arena with brilliant, colorful explosions of light.
Her family broke out of their frozen state, and cheered frantically for their dear Maya, as her fireworks continually erupted in celebration.
When you're the best, it's the only spell you need.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
MY CONFESSION
It started with a late night confession, and ended with Amber throwing a plastic bottle at me. I'm just coming right out and saying it, and everyone else can either judge me innocent or guilty as they please:
I like 'Howard the Duck'.
No, not the comic, the movie. Yes, that movie.
Bear with me.
I'm not saying I love the movie. I don't own a copy, and have no desire to own one. However, if it was on television, I'd watch it. If it was chopped up into several pieces and put on youtube, I'd check it out. If I already picked out two movies for a 3 DVDs for $5 special, and I saw 'Howard the Duck' in there...
It gets worse I'm afraid. I think Howard the Duck is as good a movie as UHF.
*SMASH*
ARGHHHHH!!! I SAID 'PLASTIC BOTTLES', NOT BEER BOTTLES!!!
Spare my life for a moment, and let me explain. UHF is a funnier movie, no doubt, but over half of it is padding. Just about every scene that has Weird Al in it is absolutely hilarious. Then Fran Drescher shows up. Then Kramer starts screaming about his mop, as he pulls things out of his ears and nose. Then there are midgets. Then there's a 'little guy' versus 'big guy' script that makes Caddyshack look like Shakespeare.
To make it worse, there's only two weird Al songs in it, and neither of them are very funny. Don't get me wrong, there are scenes of the movie I absolutely love. Both of his fantasy scenes, the commercials for the shows, the martial artists, Phyllo, the bastard evil boss, Emo Phillips, and Uncle Nutzy's playhouse are hilarious!
*TIME TRAVEL SMASH*
OW! Hey, that last bottle was from me, six years ago. Yes, past self, I know it seemed better back then, but each time I watch UHF, the annoying parts become all the more annoying.
Okay, back to Howard the Duck.
*BOP*
Thanks for sticking with plastic, Amber, it's appreciated.
Howard the Duck has many flaws, but at no point is it annoying to me. The 'duck' jokes aren't funny, admittedly, but the atmosphere is interesting, Howard himself is funny, and the movie is pure 80's.
Also, the girl in it, Lea Thompson (she played Mcfly's teenage mother, in the past, in Back to the Future) is HOT. Again, there are plenty of later movies where you can see her naked, but she was at her peak (and in her underwear) in Howard the Duck.
Now, I realize the IMDB average rating of 3.9/10 isn't helping my case, but even if the writing isn't great, character actor Chip Zien, the voice of Howard, pulls it off with genuine charm, and Tim Robbins is delightfully goofy. To add to it, almost no one in the city really cares that Howard is a Duck. He spooks some, but for the most part they just ignore the alien wandering through their city, and rather than it being unbelievable, it comes off as delightful satire.
Just as you think things are wrapping up, the movie becomes ridiculously epic, giant killer aliens show up, and Jeffrey Jones (the dad in Beetlejuice, who has bit parts in at least a million movies) is really funny as the 'possessed' scientist. What can I say? The movie works for me. The soundtrack's pretty good too, especially the song that plays the first time, when he first lands on Earth.
The only creepy thing is that despite all of Lucas' special effects (yes, this is a Lucasfilm production, although he didn't direct or write it) it's disappointing that they still had to use the 'midget in a costume' technique for all the scenes. Almost anything else would have been better. A guy in a full sized suit? A cartoon effect? Hell, the movie itself probably would have worked a LOT better as a cartoon, rather than live action.
Okay, there's one other bad thing: 111 minute run time. Lucas, I'm blaming you. You can't tell me you couldn't chop 25 minutes out of that movie. It isn't as heavily padded as UHF, but come on. It's a movie about a small, talking duck. Get over yourself.
Final rating 8/10
UHF's Final rathing 8/10
*BANG*
DAMN IT! I can't tell who's shooting at me, but it's most likely either Weird Al, Lucas' goons, Mitch, or evil pineapple.
MITCH: "SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER!"
ME: "God damn it! I knew you'd show up,eventually. So what have you been up to?"
*BANG*
ME: "Oh...right."
*THUD*
As the paramedics revived me, I realized that there's a hole in my theory, and it's 'Ernest Goes to Prison'. Before you judge, this is actually a pretty funny movie, and by far the best of the Ernest movies. Whether you like or hate Ernest, you have to admit that you'd love to see him try and survive in prison.
Wacky gimmicks and a delightfully over the top performance make the movie worthwhile, despite the dumb moments here and there. More so than any other time, you get the feeling that Ernest has dropped out of his zany, stupid world, and somehow wound up in reality, with hilarious results, most of which involve him suffering horribly.
Here's the hole: I like 'Ernest Goes to Prison' better than 'Howard the Duck'.
I'm sure no one can fault me for that.
The catch is, I like 'UHF' better than 'Ernest Goes to Prison'.
Suddenly, I'm caught in a geeky Star-Treky paradox. How can UHF be better than Ernest Goes to Oz, but just as good as a movie as Howard the Duck, which is worse than Ernest Gets Shivved?
Am I forgetting how bad Howard the Duck really is? Has my mind gone through a horrible trauma, and recreated Howard the Duck into a movie much better than it actually was? How could I possibly tell?
MITCH: "Hey! I have an idea!"
ME: "Oh really? What is it?"
*BANG*
ME: "Why do I keep forgetting about that?"
*THUD*
It started with a late night confession, and ended with Amber throwing a plastic bottle at me. I'm just coming right out and saying it, and everyone else can either judge me innocent or guilty as they please:
I like 'Howard the Duck'.
No, not the comic, the movie. Yes, that movie.
Bear with me.
I'm not saying I love the movie. I don't own a copy, and have no desire to own one. However, if it was on television, I'd watch it. If it was chopped up into several pieces and put on youtube, I'd check it out. If I already picked out two movies for a 3 DVDs for $5 special, and I saw 'Howard the Duck' in there...
It gets worse I'm afraid. I think Howard the Duck is as good a movie as UHF.
*SMASH*
ARGHHHHH!!! I SAID 'PLASTIC BOTTLES', NOT BEER BOTTLES!!!
Spare my life for a moment, and let me explain. UHF is a funnier movie, no doubt, but over half of it is padding. Just about every scene that has Weird Al in it is absolutely hilarious. Then Fran Drescher shows up. Then Kramer starts screaming about his mop, as he pulls things out of his ears and nose. Then there are midgets. Then there's a 'little guy' versus 'big guy' script that makes Caddyshack look like Shakespeare.
To make it worse, there's only two weird Al songs in it, and neither of them are very funny. Don't get me wrong, there are scenes of the movie I absolutely love. Both of his fantasy scenes, the commercials for the shows, the martial artists, Phyllo, the bastard evil boss, Emo Phillips, and Uncle Nutzy's playhouse are hilarious!
*TIME TRAVEL SMASH*
OW! Hey, that last bottle was from me, six years ago. Yes, past self, I know it seemed better back then, but each time I watch UHF, the annoying parts become all the more annoying.
Okay, back to Howard the Duck.
*BOP*
Thanks for sticking with plastic, Amber, it's appreciated.
Howard the Duck has many flaws, but at no point is it annoying to me. The 'duck' jokes aren't funny, admittedly, but the atmosphere is interesting, Howard himself is funny, and the movie is pure 80's.
Also, the girl in it, Lea Thompson (she played Mcfly's teenage mother, in the past, in Back to the Future) is HOT. Again, there are plenty of later movies where you can see her naked, but she was at her peak (and in her underwear) in Howard the Duck.
Now, I realize the IMDB average rating of 3.9/10 isn't helping my case, but even if the writing isn't great, character actor Chip Zien, the voice of Howard, pulls it off with genuine charm, and Tim Robbins is delightfully goofy. To add to it, almost no one in the city really cares that Howard is a Duck. He spooks some, but for the most part they just ignore the alien wandering through their city, and rather than it being unbelievable, it comes off as delightful satire.
Just as you think things are wrapping up, the movie becomes ridiculously epic, giant killer aliens show up, and Jeffrey Jones (the dad in Beetlejuice, who has bit parts in at least a million movies) is really funny as the 'possessed' scientist. What can I say? The movie works for me. The soundtrack's pretty good too, especially the song that plays the first time, when he first lands on Earth.
The only creepy thing is that despite all of Lucas' special effects (yes, this is a Lucasfilm production, although he didn't direct or write it) it's disappointing that they still had to use the 'midget in a costume' technique for all the scenes. Almost anything else would have been better. A guy in a full sized suit? A cartoon effect? Hell, the movie itself probably would have worked a LOT better as a cartoon, rather than live action.
Okay, there's one other bad thing: 111 minute run time. Lucas, I'm blaming you. You can't tell me you couldn't chop 25 minutes out of that movie. It isn't as heavily padded as UHF, but come on. It's a movie about a small, talking duck. Get over yourself.
Final rating 8/10
UHF's Final rathing 8/10
*BANG*
DAMN IT! I can't tell who's shooting at me, but it's most likely either Weird Al, Lucas' goons, Mitch, or evil pineapple.
MITCH: "SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER!"
ME: "God damn it! I knew you'd show up,eventually. So what have you been up to?"
*BANG*
ME: "Oh...right."
*THUD*
As the paramedics revived me, I realized that there's a hole in my theory, and it's 'Ernest Goes to Prison'. Before you judge, this is actually a pretty funny movie, and by far the best of the Ernest movies. Whether you like or hate Ernest, you have to admit that you'd love to see him try and survive in prison.
Wacky gimmicks and a delightfully over the top performance make the movie worthwhile, despite the dumb moments here and there. More so than any other time, you get the feeling that Ernest has dropped out of his zany, stupid world, and somehow wound up in reality, with hilarious results, most of which involve him suffering horribly.
Here's the hole: I like 'Ernest Goes to Prison' better than 'Howard the Duck'.
I'm sure no one can fault me for that.
The catch is, I like 'UHF' better than 'Ernest Goes to Prison'.
Suddenly, I'm caught in a geeky Star-Treky paradox. How can UHF be better than Ernest Goes to Oz, but just as good as a movie as Howard the Duck, which is worse than Ernest Gets Shivved?
Am I forgetting how bad Howard the Duck really is? Has my mind gone through a horrible trauma, and recreated Howard the Duck into a movie much better than it actually was? How could I possibly tell?
MITCH: "Hey! I have an idea!"
ME: "Oh really? What is it?"
*BANG*
ME: "Why do I keep forgetting about that?"
*THUD*
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Substance Happens Part 2
I found out I was wrong (thankfully). The blue alien girls in Mass Effect don't have a...ahem...two for one deal. Instead, it's more like Kiff in Futurama. The blue alien girls fall in love, mate, and while mating they link minds with the other person. From this other person, they copy their mind and personality into themselves, and then subsequently place it into a child they give birth to, asexually.
Long story short, they simply clone themselves, asexually, but place aspects of their mate's personality and mind into their child. This means they can mate with literally any sentient creature. It's personalities that are getting passed on, not genes. This also explains why all the blue alien girls look alike. They're literally the same set of genes, cloned over and over.
Wait, this also means that they're a geeks dream! All they care about IS personality!
Oh well, we can dream. ^_^
Here we go, part two:
1. Despite your odd previous adventures, you now find yourself with at least two, that's right two hours of non-stop side-questing. You need to prove Saren framed you, and then infiltrate...I mean legitimately join the Specters, which are basically the alien council's personal FBI/CIA/GOON-SQUAD. So, what's your plan?
Go to the strip club? (Go to 2)
Get thrown off the case? (Go to 3)
Plan? (Go to 4)
2. A strip club. How unbelievably necessary. Despite the promise of lewd encounters, you can't help but suspect that the entire place was designed by some guy at a computer that not only hasn't ever been to a strip club, but has never even touched a woman either. The blue alien girls writhe around, but they couldn't be less sexy if they tried. A bald, middle aged guy is trying to get your attention. Do you:
Talk to him (Go to 5)
Shoot him in the head (Go to 6)
3. You're no fool. There's no way of solving the case without first getting thrown off it! Unfortunately, you aren't actually on the case...but you know a guy who was! Was he thrown off the case, and told not to go any further? You bet he was! We've found our guy! Where are you going to look for an off duty cop?
Strip club? (Go to 2)
Police headquarters? (Go to 7)
Randomly shoot aliens, hope he's one of the cops that shows up? (Go to 6)
4. You mean you don't have a plan? Well that's great! You know how long they spent making this gigantic, non-linear, space opera? You're really waltzing through it without a clue?! Fine, go to the markets or something. See if I care.
Go to the markets? (go to 8)
Something? (go to 7)
See if Max cares? (go to 9)
5. He's an old, drunk, and charmless corrupt cop. There's no rational reason he's still alive. You recommend suicide, but to no avail. Instead, he drops a clue that your Captain was...GASP! DUN DUN DUN!
Gasp? (go to 10)
Dun Dun Dun? (go to 11)
6. It turns out you can't kill non-villains. Frustrated, you decide to play 'Fable' for a while, instead, and wipe cities clean of life. Good times. THE END
7. After slogging through a few random alien 'could you check up on this guy' quests, you watch an awesome dinosaur guy verbally smack around a cop. He wants you to help him murder a guy who is withholding evidence for the case. Is this guy in?
He's in. (Go to 12)
He's so in. (Go to 13)
8. Holy shit, everything's really fricking expensive. All you can buy is the right to buy more types of items. Of course, you can pawn 90% of your stuff just to get a single gun...
Let's do that (go to 14)
Let's not do that (go to 15)
Shoot the vendor, grab all the merchandise, fly to the planet Mexico (go to 6)
9. I do, I was bluffing. Have some cheesecake and go back to 4.
10. He and the villain have a history! Not that kind of history, the kind you get thrown out of the army and boy scouts for, but the other kind, where the villain once royally screwed him! Not that kind of royally screwed him, the kind you get thrown out of the army and boy scouts for, but...oh never mind. You also find out where to find the renegade lizard cop. (Go to 16).
11.George, George, George of the jungle, friend to you and me! AAAYYAAAA! AAAYYYYYAAAA! Watch out for that tree!
Watch out for the tree (go to 17)
Too young to get the reference (go to 18)
12. Of course he is! Give the man a shotgun and go to 19
13. Now that sounds a little weird. Easy does it, sailor. Give the man an assault rifle, and go to 19.
14. Sounds good to me! Screw your horribly equipped teammates! You now have a big fricking gun! Unless of course, you're a class besides Solider. In that case you just lost everything. What, are you going to cry about it?
No (go to 15)
Yes (go to 20)
15. You're going to need some extra help. Where to?
Police station (go to 7)
Strip club (go to 2)
16. You find the renegade lizard cop in the hospital, stealing your thunder. He caps a bad guy in the head, saves a hostage, and wants in. Is he in?
Yes (go to 21)
No (go to 22)
17. Whew! Close call! Go to 10.
18. Dang fangled teenagers. Back in my day we didn't have anime! We watched serialized cartoons about retarded animals, guys in high school mascot outfits, and ridiculously ineffective super teams! They weren't used to sell video and card games, either! They were used to sell toys! THE END FOR NO APPARENT REASON
19. Do you have both aliens?
Yes (go to 23)
Not the renegade ex-cop (go to 2)
Not the awesome Krogan (go to 7)
20. They hand you around prison like a collection plate. I don't know how you got in prison, or what that has to do with Mass Effect, but I heard the line yesterday, and wanted to use it. Sorry about that. Try and walk it off. THE END
21. Good! Give him a sniper rifle and let the iguanaman stand in front. (go to 19)
22. Eh, fuck him...and not that kind of fuck him, the kind you get kicked out of the army and boy scouts for...on second thought, that joke is getting old. Better give him a sniper rifle and bring him along. (go to 19)
23. Okay! It's time to go to the strip club and kill everyone. Do you:
Go to the strip club and kill every other person? (go to 24)
Go to the peaceful alien embassies and kill everyone? (go to 25)
Go to the peaceful alien embassies and kill every other person? (go to 26)
Go to the strip club and kill everyone? (go to 27)
24. You get your ass handed to you by the guards, and not that type of ass handed to you, the kind you get kicked out of the army and boy scouts for. Last time, I promise. THE END
25. Why you chowder-head! I know your heart was in the right place, but you forgot who you were killing again! Things get a little tense at the human embassy after that, but your boss assures you that everything's going to be fine, and if you would just look that way for a moment, he'll tell you about the rabbits again. THE END
26. Despite your assurance that it was technically a better choice than #25, your boss still puts you down, John Steinbeck style. THE END
27. Enough with the high school literary references! You kill absolutely everyone in a gleeful fit of mayhem, and have the chance to show a shred of mercy by sparing...
KABLAMO! (go to 28)
ZZZZZAP! (go to 28)
28. Fuck yeah! You step over their corpses and find the boss. After blowing up his annoying robot sentries, he tells you that you only have a few minutes to go save the techno-gypsy alien chick before she dies! Krogan offs him, which is hilarious, and you go to save her. This is it! It's now or never!
Now? (go to 29)
Never? (go to 30)
29. Yay! The assassins are dead, you saved the hot, yet untouchable, two-toed alien gypsy girl, and you have all the evidence you need to both discredit Sarek and join the intergalactic gestapo! Moseltov! Go to 31.
30. You douchebag. No cheesecake for you. THE END
31. You've made it! Wait, you missed 500 other small sidequests...well, better do them before moving on. You're going to have a lot of plot related encounters, and it just won't be the same unless you mercilessly crush them under the heel of your 50th level character's boot. Be sure to pick up your inter-stellar license to kill on the way back to your ship. From now on, the whole universe is your oyster, to shell, eat live, and then slowly digest! Congrats!
END PART 2
I found out I was wrong (thankfully). The blue alien girls in Mass Effect don't have a...ahem...two for one deal. Instead, it's more like Kiff in Futurama. The blue alien girls fall in love, mate, and while mating they link minds with the other person. From this other person, they copy their mind and personality into themselves, and then subsequently place it into a child they give birth to, asexually.
Long story short, they simply clone themselves, asexually, but place aspects of their mate's personality and mind into their child. This means they can mate with literally any sentient creature. It's personalities that are getting passed on, not genes. This also explains why all the blue alien girls look alike. They're literally the same set of genes, cloned over and over.
Wait, this also means that they're a geeks dream! All they care about IS personality!
Oh well, we can dream. ^_^
Here we go, part two:
1. Despite your odd previous adventures, you now find yourself with at least two, that's right two hours of non-stop side-questing. You need to prove Saren framed you, and then infiltrate...I mean legitimately join the Specters, which are basically the alien council's personal FBI/CIA/GOON-SQUAD. So, what's your plan?
Go to the strip club? (Go to 2)
Get thrown off the case? (Go to 3)
Plan? (Go to 4)
2. A strip club. How unbelievably necessary. Despite the promise of lewd encounters, you can't help but suspect that the entire place was designed by some guy at a computer that not only hasn't ever been to a strip club, but has never even touched a woman either. The blue alien girls writhe around, but they couldn't be less sexy if they tried. A bald, middle aged guy is trying to get your attention. Do you:
Talk to him (Go to 5)
Shoot him in the head (Go to 6)
3. You're no fool. There's no way of solving the case without first getting thrown off it! Unfortunately, you aren't actually on the case...but you know a guy who was! Was he thrown off the case, and told not to go any further? You bet he was! We've found our guy! Where are you going to look for an off duty cop?
Strip club? (Go to 2)
Police headquarters? (Go to 7)
Randomly shoot aliens, hope he's one of the cops that shows up? (Go to 6)
4. You mean you don't have a plan? Well that's great! You know how long they spent making this gigantic, non-linear, space opera? You're really waltzing through it without a clue?! Fine, go to the markets or something. See if I care.
Go to the markets? (go to 8)
Something? (go to 7)
See if Max cares? (go to 9)
5. He's an old, drunk, and charmless corrupt cop. There's no rational reason he's still alive. You recommend suicide, but to no avail. Instead, he drops a clue that your Captain was...GASP! DUN DUN DUN!
Gasp? (go to 10)
Dun Dun Dun? (go to 11)
6. It turns out you can't kill non-villains. Frustrated, you decide to play 'Fable' for a while, instead, and wipe cities clean of life. Good times. THE END
7. After slogging through a few random alien 'could you check up on this guy' quests, you watch an awesome dinosaur guy verbally smack around a cop. He wants you to help him murder a guy who is withholding evidence for the case. Is this guy in?
He's in. (Go to 12)
He's so in. (Go to 13)
8. Holy shit, everything's really fricking expensive. All you can buy is the right to buy more types of items. Of course, you can pawn 90% of your stuff just to get a single gun...
Let's do that (go to 14)
Let's not do that (go to 15)
Shoot the vendor, grab all the merchandise, fly to the planet Mexico (go to 6)
9. I do, I was bluffing. Have some cheesecake and go back to 4.
10. He and the villain have a history! Not that kind of history, the kind you get thrown out of the army and boy scouts for, but the other kind, where the villain once royally screwed him! Not that kind of royally screwed him, the kind you get thrown out of the army and boy scouts for, but...oh never mind. You also find out where to find the renegade lizard cop. (Go to 16).
11.George, George, George of the jungle, friend to you and me! AAAYYAAAA! AAAYYYYYAAAA! Watch out for that tree!
Watch out for the tree (go to 17)
Too young to get the reference (go to 18)
12. Of course he is! Give the man a shotgun and go to 19
13. Now that sounds a little weird. Easy does it, sailor. Give the man an assault rifle, and go to 19.
14. Sounds good to me! Screw your horribly equipped teammates! You now have a big fricking gun! Unless of course, you're a class besides Solider. In that case you just lost everything. What, are you going to cry about it?
No (go to 15)
Yes (go to 20)
15. You're going to need some extra help. Where to?
Police station (go to 7)
Strip club (go to 2)
16. You find the renegade lizard cop in the hospital, stealing your thunder. He caps a bad guy in the head, saves a hostage, and wants in. Is he in?
Yes (go to 21)
No (go to 22)
17. Whew! Close call! Go to 10.
18. Dang fangled teenagers. Back in my day we didn't have anime! We watched serialized cartoons about retarded animals, guys in high school mascot outfits, and ridiculously ineffective super teams! They weren't used to sell video and card games, either! They were used to sell toys! THE END FOR NO APPARENT REASON
19. Do you have both aliens?
Yes (go to 23)
Not the renegade ex-cop (go to 2)
Not the awesome Krogan (go to 7)
20. They hand you around prison like a collection plate. I don't know how you got in prison, or what that has to do with Mass Effect, but I heard the line yesterday, and wanted to use it. Sorry about that. Try and walk it off. THE END
21. Good! Give him a sniper rifle and let the iguanaman stand in front. (go to 19)
22. Eh, fuck him...and not that kind of fuck him, the kind you get kicked out of the army and boy scouts for...on second thought, that joke is getting old. Better give him a sniper rifle and bring him along. (go to 19)
23. Okay! It's time to go to the strip club and kill everyone. Do you:
Go to the strip club and kill every other person? (go to 24)
Go to the peaceful alien embassies and kill everyone? (go to 25)
Go to the peaceful alien embassies and kill every other person? (go to 26)
Go to the strip club and kill everyone? (go to 27)
24. You get your ass handed to you by the guards, and not that type of ass handed to you, the kind you get kicked out of the army and boy scouts for. Last time, I promise. THE END
25. Why you chowder-head! I know your heart was in the right place, but you forgot who you were killing again! Things get a little tense at the human embassy after that, but your boss assures you that everything's going to be fine, and if you would just look that way for a moment, he'll tell you about the rabbits again. THE END
26. Despite your assurance that it was technically a better choice than #25, your boss still puts you down, John Steinbeck style. THE END
27. Enough with the high school literary references! You kill absolutely everyone in a gleeful fit of mayhem, and have the chance to show a shred of mercy by sparing...
KABLAMO! (go to 28)
ZZZZZAP! (go to 28)
28. Fuck yeah! You step over their corpses and find the boss. After blowing up his annoying robot sentries, he tells you that you only have a few minutes to go save the techno-gypsy alien chick before she dies! Krogan offs him, which is hilarious, and you go to save her. This is it! It's now or never!
Now? (go to 29)
Never? (go to 30)
29. Yay! The assassins are dead, you saved the hot, yet untouchable, two-toed alien gypsy girl, and you have all the evidence you need to both discredit Sarek and join the intergalactic gestapo! Moseltov! Go to 31.
30. You douchebag. No cheesecake for you. THE END
31. You've made it! Wait, you missed 500 other small sidequests...well, better do them before moving on. You're going to have a lot of plot related encounters, and it just won't be the same unless you mercilessly crush them under the heel of your 50th level character's boot. Be sure to pick up your inter-stellar license to kill on the way back to your ship. From now on, the whole universe is your oyster, to shell, eat live, and then slowly digest! Congrats!
END PART 2
Saturday, December 01, 2007
SUBSTANCE HAPPENS
What happened? What's going on?
I remember getting Mass Effect a week or two ago...and then everything after that is a blur. A very wonderful blur...
Well, apart from some of the 'choices' your character has to make. To demonstrate, here's an extremely short 'choose your own adventure' story. I'm only doing the Guy's version though, sorry Amber. Enjoy!
1. You're standing at the helm of the ship Normandy. You are [your name here] Shepard, the second in command of the vessel. Yes, like Riker, only without Troy...and you have to do something about that. No time now though, the commander is looking for you and he wants you to talk with an alien! Do you:
Agree and quickly go there like a good little boy? (go to passage 2)
Hit on the milf doctor? (go to 3)
Harass the disabled pilot (go to 4)?
2. The alien is waiting for you, and he's babbling, Matrix 2 style. Luckily, he's quickly interrupted by the deaths of thousands of people. Aliens are attacking the colony below, and the alien is going to judge your performance. Do you:
Heartily agree to do your job? (go to 6)
Whine about it like a bitch? (go to 6)
3. She's British and that's really damn hot. A quick check of the strategy guide unfortunately reveals that she's not a romantic choice. All you have is a girl with an ambiguous ethnicity, and a blue alien. Damn it. (go to 2)
4. "You can't walk and that's hilarious! Now shut up and earn that parking space, Mr. 'It's the future, but I'm still going to wear a baseball cap'." (go to 5)
5. Just kidding. Seth Green, you're awesome. Nice hat. (go to 2)
6. Either way (although whining makes you look like a wuss), you're now on the surface of the planet with a useless character that you're never going to include in the party again, and also...whoops, the third guy's already dead! Do you:
Interrupt the mission to make sure he gets a burial (go to 7)
Do something that isn't retarded (go to 8)
7. You make the proper funeral arrangements, and only a few dozen colonists are killed by aliens in the process. (go to 9)
8. Apparently that makes you evil. (go to 9)
9. The hot girl with the ambiguous ethnicity (half black? Spanish? Russian? Dark Italian?) arrives. She's hot, but stupid, and you can't help but notice she's trying REALLY hard to look pretty. Hell, her armor's pink, and it's designed so you can see the shape of her breasts. What the hell is the point in that? Amber thinks it's a storage pack for sandwiches, and I can't disprove that. Do you:
Pursue her as a love interest? (go to 10)
Wait for the alien chick? (go to 11)
10. Congratulations, you now have to act like a complete douchebag for the rest of the game (go to 12)
11. Nice choice! I bet she's hot. (go to 12)
12. ZOMBIES! Yes, Sci-fi zombies! You kill a hundred zombies and robots, and the good alien is killed by the main bad guy, but you don't actually see that. You were too distracted by all of the brainless colonists that are wandering around. Do you:
Kiss up to the ungrateful peasants? (go to 13)
Beat up the crazy guy? (go to 14)
Mercilessly extort everyone for profit? (go to 15)
13. Isn't it nice being a good boy? The survivors throw you a few trinkets and patiently wait for you to finish fighting all their battles for them. Even the stupid girl loses respect for you, and you soon resign in shame, left to do nothing besides a few guest spots for daytime television. Way to go, toolbag. THE END
14. BAM! Down he goes! Take that, mentally disabled person! Now all you have to do is push a blind man down some stairs, and your day is complete! (go to 16)
15. Why not? Whether through charm, or a gun pressed against their head, nothing's more profitable than intimidating the meek. As an afterthought, you supply your home address, so they can forward the world to you, should they ever inherit it. (go to 16)
16. You disable some bombs, yadda yadda yadda, and you get a vision of...*YAWN*, and before you know it, you've completely failed your mission. Well, shit. Pretty soon you're back at the main space station of the alien council. It's like a cross between the United Nations, the Mall of America, and a brothel. It's beyond awesome! Do you:
Do all the sidequests? (go to 17)
Go straight to the main plot? (go to 18)
Visit the brothel (go to 19)
17. No you don't. (go to 19)
18. You're not fooling anyone. (go to 19)
19. After a quick sidequest, you've got a very thankful and gorgeous blue alien girl ready to 'reward you for your services'. Are you:
Uninterested? (go to 20)
Already naked? (go to 21)
20. Amazingly, you get some very helpful information and a nice quest item. As an added bonus, you avoid inter-stellar chlamydia. Moseltov! Don't worry, there's an alien girl you can hook up with later who HASN'T slept with everything on the space station (including the cyber-dwarves, frog snobs, and half-elephants). Trust me, you don't want the details. (go to 24)
21. A wiser man may have wondered why they've never seen a male member of the blue alien race. Although the guide is vague, it's clear that there is only one gender of the blue alien race...and I think you can see where this is going. Although details are sketchy, apparently they are capable of MATING (not simply sex or screwing around, but full blown MATING), with BOTH men and women. She takes off her shirt, which is very nice, and then drops her pants. The theme from 'The Crying Game' plays in the background. Do you:
Run from the room, screaming? (go to 22)
Sleep with her anyway? (go to 23)
22. Your drinking buddies don't believe you, and frankly, neither do I. Have a few more beers and then tell us what really happened. (go to 23)
23. It's okay, we won't tell. Besides, you can just...you know...not go near that part of her body. She's still really hot...and lord knows Kirk would do it! You decide that if Captain Kirk would sleep with a blue alien hermaphrodite, then it can't be gay. You get inter-stellar chlamydia, and then leave. (go to 24)
24. You've finally made it to the real substance of the story! Enough with these pointless plot points, characters and backstory, IT'S TIME FOR SIDEQUESTS!
(End Part 1)
What happened? What's going on?
I remember getting Mass Effect a week or two ago...and then everything after that is a blur. A very wonderful blur...
Well, apart from some of the 'choices' your character has to make. To demonstrate, here's an extremely short 'choose your own adventure' story. I'm only doing the Guy's version though, sorry Amber. Enjoy!
1. You're standing at the helm of the ship Normandy. You are [your name here] Shepard, the second in command of the vessel. Yes, like Riker, only without Troy...and you have to do something about that. No time now though, the commander is looking for you and he wants you to talk with an alien! Do you:
Agree and quickly go there like a good little boy? (go to passage 2)
Hit on the milf doctor? (go to 3)
Harass the disabled pilot (go to 4)?
2. The alien is waiting for you, and he's babbling, Matrix 2 style. Luckily, he's quickly interrupted by the deaths of thousands of people. Aliens are attacking the colony below, and the alien is going to judge your performance. Do you:
Heartily agree to do your job? (go to 6)
Whine about it like a bitch? (go to 6)
3. She's British and that's really damn hot. A quick check of the strategy guide unfortunately reveals that she's not a romantic choice. All you have is a girl with an ambiguous ethnicity, and a blue alien. Damn it. (go to 2)
4. "You can't walk and that's hilarious! Now shut up and earn that parking space, Mr. 'It's the future, but I'm still going to wear a baseball cap'." (go to 5)
5. Just kidding. Seth Green, you're awesome. Nice hat. (go to 2)
6. Either way (although whining makes you look like a wuss), you're now on the surface of the planet with a useless character that you're never going to include in the party again, and also...whoops, the third guy's already dead! Do you:
Interrupt the mission to make sure he gets a burial (go to 7)
Do something that isn't retarded (go to 8)
7. You make the proper funeral arrangements, and only a few dozen colonists are killed by aliens in the process. (go to 9)
8. Apparently that makes you evil. (go to 9)
9. The hot girl with the ambiguous ethnicity (half black? Spanish? Russian? Dark Italian?) arrives. She's hot, but stupid, and you can't help but notice she's trying REALLY hard to look pretty. Hell, her armor's pink, and it's designed so you can see the shape of her breasts. What the hell is the point in that? Amber thinks it's a storage pack for sandwiches, and I can't disprove that. Do you:
Pursue her as a love interest? (go to 10)
Wait for the alien chick? (go to 11)
10. Congratulations, you now have to act like a complete douchebag for the rest of the game (go to 12)
11. Nice choice! I bet she's hot. (go to 12)
12. ZOMBIES! Yes, Sci-fi zombies! You kill a hundred zombies and robots, and the good alien is killed by the main bad guy, but you don't actually see that. You were too distracted by all of the brainless colonists that are wandering around. Do you:
Kiss up to the ungrateful peasants? (go to 13)
Beat up the crazy guy? (go to 14)
Mercilessly extort everyone for profit? (go to 15)
13. Isn't it nice being a good boy? The survivors throw you a few trinkets and patiently wait for you to finish fighting all their battles for them. Even the stupid girl loses respect for you, and you soon resign in shame, left to do nothing besides a few guest spots for daytime television. Way to go, toolbag. THE END
14. BAM! Down he goes! Take that, mentally disabled person! Now all you have to do is push a blind man down some stairs, and your day is complete! (go to 16)
15. Why not? Whether through charm, or a gun pressed against their head, nothing's more profitable than intimidating the meek. As an afterthought, you supply your home address, so they can forward the world to you, should they ever inherit it. (go to 16)
16. You disable some bombs, yadda yadda yadda, and you get a vision of...*YAWN*, and before you know it, you've completely failed your mission. Well, shit. Pretty soon you're back at the main space station of the alien council. It's like a cross between the United Nations, the Mall of America, and a brothel. It's beyond awesome! Do you:
Do all the sidequests? (go to 17)
Go straight to the main plot? (go to 18)
Visit the brothel (go to 19)
17. No you don't. (go to 19)
18. You're not fooling anyone. (go to 19)
19. After a quick sidequest, you've got a very thankful and gorgeous blue alien girl ready to 'reward you for your services'. Are you:
Uninterested? (go to 20)
Already naked? (go to 21)
20. Amazingly, you get some very helpful information and a nice quest item. As an added bonus, you avoid inter-stellar chlamydia. Moseltov! Don't worry, there's an alien girl you can hook up with later who HASN'T slept with everything on the space station (including the cyber-dwarves, frog snobs, and half-elephants). Trust me, you don't want the details. (go to 24)
21. A wiser man may have wondered why they've never seen a male member of the blue alien race. Although the guide is vague, it's clear that there is only one gender of the blue alien race...and I think you can see where this is going. Although details are sketchy, apparently they are capable of MATING (not simply sex or screwing around, but full blown MATING), with BOTH men and women. She takes off her shirt, which is very nice, and then drops her pants. The theme from 'The Crying Game' plays in the background. Do you:
Run from the room, screaming? (go to 22)
Sleep with her anyway? (go to 23)
22. Your drinking buddies don't believe you, and frankly, neither do I. Have a few more beers and then tell us what really happened. (go to 23)
23. It's okay, we won't tell. Besides, you can just...you know...not go near that part of her body. She's still really hot...and lord knows Kirk would do it! You decide that if Captain Kirk would sleep with a blue alien hermaphrodite, then it can't be gay. You get inter-stellar chlamydia, and then leave. (go to 24)
24. You've finally made it to the real substance of the story! Enough with these pointless plot points, characters and backstory, IT'S TIME FOR SIDEQUESTS!
(End Part 1)
Saturday, November 17, 2007
I'm wrapped up in work! Here's a story I've been writing that everyone seems to like. Enjoy!
LIKE LEE
INTRODUCTION
I woke up tied to my computer chair, with my arms given just enough slack to allow typing. Lee was in my kitchen, making himself a sandwich. On the screen of my computer was the introduction that you're reading now, only with numerous spelling and grammatical errors throughout.
Lee whistled pleasantly to himself, as he spread honey-mustard onto a slice of bread with the side of his semi-automatic pistol. I know this, because it was already written on the screen in front of me, albeit without the dashes, and albeit was spelled wrong both times.
If the large, random pile of papers were any indication, Lee had kidnapped me (can you be kidnapped if you're still in your house?) in order to edit those random notes into some kind of coherent story.
"Yeah, that's the gist of it!"
Lee's voice carried through the house at exactly the same moment I read the words on the screen. Every time I read over the words again, Lee would call out the sentence at the exact same time. If I stopped reading halfway, he'd stop speaking.
There didn't seem to be any way around it.
Every now and then I'd have to use the bathroom, and my captor would politely untie me, and patiently await my return. Soon it became time for work, and after a long day of data entry, Lee would meet me at the door, and then tie me to the computer again. I'd sleep in my own bed (Lee crashed on the couch), but always woke up tied to the computer, never feeling any signs of struggle, or discomfort.
Well, except for that one time, when Lee got confused and accidentally tied himself to the computer chair instead. It took a while to get him out. I'm no good with knots.
I sometimes wonder why I didn't call the police, run away, or leave him tied up that one time. I don't know, Lee just seems to have a way of making things happen.
Is he a hero? Is he a villain? He's Lee. He's everything and nothing, only more so. Don't understand? Lee will be happy to explain it to you. In fact, he's already in your kitchen right now, making himself a sandwich.
You need more mustard.
CHAPTER 1
With a freshly brewed cup of tea in hand, Lee eagerly sat at the computer in his living room, and began writing his novel.
Seeing is believing, therefore believing must also be equal to seeing. Faith is a synonym for belief, so that makes faith equal to seeing. The definition of faith is to believe in what you cannot see, which leads us to conclude, curiously enough, that believing in what you cannot see...
For no apparent reason, Lee intentionally dropped off the side of his chair. Less than a second later, bullets began raining through his windows. Lee quickly grabbed one of the automatic pistols taped to the bottom of his chair, and then fired blindly into the dark night.
The street below soon filled with the sounds of screams, and cars screeching to a halt. Lee waited a few moments, to confirm that his mysterious attackers had stopped firing, and then went back to typing.
...is equal to seeing. Sight is therefore equal to not seeing, making the numerical value of sight equal to zero, as it's the only number that is equal to the negative version of itself. The further implications of...
Several windows simultaneously shattered, as buckshot tore through half of the room. Lee took a few hits himself, against the side of his abdomen. The wounds felt minor, but the pain was still horrible, and greatly interfered with his ability to find the shift key.
A second round was fired, and Lee grudgingly threw himself to the floor once again. It was there that he first caught sight of the devastation. The shotgun blasts had obliterated virtually everything Lee could see. Five jars, each completely filled with pennies, had all sprayed their contents across the room. No matter which way Lee looked, Lincoln's face was staring back at him, disapprovingly.
Lee’s unseen attacker fired another volley of pellets, this time against Lee's favorite Magritte painting, 'The Treachery of Images', tearing it to pieces. Lee chocked back tears. It had taken years to successfully switch the original painting for a phony, and it'd probably take several more for him to do it again! First, he'd have to revive Magritte, Frankenstein style, and then...
His train of thought was interrupted by a third shot, which did more damage than all the other shots combined. The attacker hit his lamp, the gun taped to the side of his high definition television set, his high definition television set, and even his lucky can of pineapple juice.
Lee's eyes widened in shock, as the can fell from the shelf, and onto the floor. It rolled over slightly, and began seeping juice directly into the carpet.
They had gone too far.
Lee pulled the second gun off the bottom of the chair, and fired randomly outside, in a mindless retaliation against the world in general. It was too dark to confirm whether or not he hit anything, but he vowed to keep firing until he either ran out of bullets, guns, or space in which to use those bullets and guns.
Bullets ran out first, and Lee panicked. Where were his last two guns?
"Damn it! Okay Lee, think logically. Did I leave them with my keys?"
A rain of pellets missed Lee by inches, and shattered his hundred gallon fish tank. One hundred gallons of fish filled water poured directly onto Lee’s pants.
"Did I leave them at work? Is Walter borrowing any? Did I...wait! I know!"
Lee grasped frantically for the Beretta taped to the small of his back, and tore it off.
"YEEEEEEEEEEOWWWWWWWWWW!!! NOW I'M IN A FIGHTING MOOD!"
Lee stepped dramatically towards the window, and randomly fired slug after slug directly across the street. Eventually, a sharp cry erupted, followed by a burst from a shotgun. The shot didn’t hit anywhere near Lee's apartment, and was followed by no more.
Lee continued firing.
When the Beretta ran out of bullets, Lee almost panicked again. Luckily, he managed to catch sight of his last gun, which he had ingeniously taped to the bottom of his shoe.
As Lee finished using up the last of his ammunition, the sound of sirens steadily approached. Time was running out. He had to write fast!
Lee clutched his wounded, bleeding side, and lurched back to his miraculously undamaged computer.
"Okay Lee, keep it together. Only two hundred pages to go..."
A loud, yet professional sounding man slammed his fist on Lee’s door, and demanded his surrender.
"Damn it. I need a new apartment."
Left with no other option, Lee was forced to use his secret escape route, using top secret escape plan Alpha-Zeta. Lee frantically unplugged his monitor, as the police kicked against the door. By the time they eventually smashed through, Lee was hurling the monitor through the only unbroken window in his apartment, the one facing the side alleyway. The police charged forward, but by the time they reached the window, Lee had already jumped.
Lee desperately lunged forward, like a cat, towards the fire escape of the building next to his. It was a full ten foot jump, which was a lot, considering that Lee didn't have a running start. Regardless, it was a risk Lee was willing to take. His only concern was whether or not that old, rusty fire escape was stable enough for a landing.
Lee’s fears were unfounded. Despite its rusty exterior, the fire escape was completely capable supporting Lee’s weight, and undoubtedly would have, had he not missed it by a full two feet.
Lee experienced the pleasant sensation of gravity pulling him downwards. Ironically, the guard railing that saved his life was far less pleasant. When Lee landed gut-first onto the fire escape, the next floor down, the police officers collectively winced, and then held their breath in anticipation.
Lee weakly crawled over the metal bar, and onto his knees. After seeing he was more or less fine, the officers broke into thunderous applause. Lee pulled himself to his feet, and then took a bow.
After a few seconds of confusion, the officers came back to their senses and drew their guns, but it was already too late. Lee had already slammed through an apartment window, and made his escape.
...
"This is Trisha Banks reporting live from the scene. A desperate shootout between two madmen has left dozens injured, and a neighborhood gripped in panic. Apparently, while situated ten floors up, the two men began a desperate shootout from across a busy street. The names of the men are still unknown, but the police have informed us that one of them was killed by the gunfire. The other attacker apparently fled the scene by making a desperate leap across an alleyway, from his window to the fire escape next door. Police are still searching for the man, but have yet to issue...wait! Sir!"
"Yes?"
"Trisha Banks, channel seventeen..."
"Lee, the Discovery channel."
"What?”
“Your turn.”
“Uh...did you see what happened?"
"All things. Fucker hit my painting."
"Please! Language! We're live."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! THE fucker hit my painting."
"Uh..."
"I apologize for my grammar, but I've been shot."
Trisha eagerly motioned for the camera to get a shot of his injury. That was always ratings gold.
"Do you need medical assistance?"
"Can you tie a stitch?"
"Uh..."
"Do you have any rubbing alcohol in your van?"
"Well..."
"Then no, you can’t."
"Did you catch any sight of your attackers?"
"SHIT! There was more than one?!"
"Please sir, I know you're in pain..."
"I want none of this grammar Nazi crap!"
"Sorry?"
"That was a perfectly legitimate interjection! I...I'm sorry, it's this gunshot wound. It's making me grumpy."
"Can you give us a description of the surviving attacker?"
"I'm pretty sure they're all dead. They did stop shooting, after all. My God, the carnage was terrible."
Trisha leaned in close, eager to hear the details of the assault.
"No matter where you looked, it was nothing but juice, broken glass, dead fish, and pictures of Lincoln! It was hell on Earth, make no mistake about it."
Trisha took a moment to collect her thoughts and regain her composure. The cameraman made a cut-throat motion, but Trisha shook her head. She hadn't given up yet.
"Police confirmed that one of the attackers got away. Apparently he leaped out of that window..."
"Oh yeah! You should have seen that jump! It was awesome!"
"Can you describe the man?"
"Sure! He's five foot eleven, one hundred and eighty pounds, blood type A, black haired, heavily scarred, ambidextrous, and has these awesome mutton chops."
Lee motioned towards his own mutton chops as he spoke. Trisha silently reviewed the details of the description, as her cameraman focused upon Lee's face, beard and scars. Trisha ignored the cameraman's desperate motions, and continued,
"Is there anything else you'd like to add?"
"Do you know anyone who needs a roommate?”
...
EDITOR'S NOTE:
Lee has assured me that everything you are about to read is true, with the added caveat that reality itself might be fictional.
Lee is not responsible for any of the consequences that arrive from reading this novel, including: paper cuts, unsettling ideas, mediocre movie adaptations, lucid dreams, bad online fanfics, or injuries resulting from any attempt to recreate a stunt from the story, which Lee assures me were all performed by trained professionals.
Lee has also informed me that he's not responsible for the consequences of any of his own actions, both in real life and in the novel, but has yet to explain why.
In response to my questioning, Lee decreed that I, the editor, am responsible for all the consequences of his actions instead. Despite my best efforts, I have yet to prove him wrong.
Lee has, however, admitted that he is completely at fault for not having an awesome car. Luckily, that was a problem he could fix.
LIKE LEE
INTRODUCTION
I woke up tied to my computer chair, with my arms given just enough slack to allow typing. Lee was in my kitchen, making himself a sandwich. On the screen of my computer was the introduction that you're reading now, only with numerous spelling and grammatical errors throughout.
Lee whistled pleasantly to himself, as he spread honey-mustard onto a slice of bread with the side of his semi-automatic pistol. I know this, because it was already written on the screen in front of me, albeit without the dashes, and albeit was spelled wrong both times.
If the large, random pile of papers were any indication, Lee had kidnapped me (can you be kidnapped if you're still in your house?) in order to edit those random notes into some kind of coherent story.
"Yeah, that's the gist of it!"
Lee's voice carried through the house at exactly the same moment I read the words on the screen. Every time I read over the words again, Lee would call out the sentence at the exact same time. If I stopped reading halfway, he'd stop speaking.
There didn't seem to be any way around it.
Every now and then I'd have to use the bathroom, and my captor would politely untie me, and patiently await my return. Soon it became time for work, and after a long day of data entry, Lee would meet me at the door, and then tie me to the computer again. I'd sleep in my own bed (Lee crashed on the couch), but always woke up tied to the computer, never feeling any signs of struggle, or discomfort.
Well, except for that one time, when Lee got confused and accidentally tied himself to the computer chair instead. It took a while to get him out. I'm no good with knots.
I sometimes wonder why I didn't call the police, run away, or leave him tied up that one time. I don't know, Lee just seems to have a way of making things happen.
Is he a hero? Is he a villain? He's Lee. He's everything and nothing, only more so. Don't understand? Lee will be happy to explain it to you. In fact, he's already in your kitchen right now, making himself a sandwich.
You need more mustard.
CHAPTER 1
With a freshly brewed cup of tea in hand, Lee eagerly sat at the computer in his living room, and began writing his novel.
Seeing is believing, therefore believing must also be equal to seeing. Faith is a synonym for belief, so that makes faith equal to seeing. The definition of faith is to believe in what you cannot see, which leads us to conclude, curiously enough, that believing in what you cannot see...
For no apparent reason, Lee intentionally dropped off the side of his chair. Less than a second later, bullets began raining through his windows. Lee quickly grabbed one of the automatic pistols taped to the bottom of his chair, and then fired blindly into the dark night.
The street below soon filled with the sounds of screams, and cars screeching to a halt. Lee waited a few moments, to confirm that his mysterious attackers had stopped firing, and then went back to typing.
...is equal to seeing. Sight is therefore equal to not seeing, making the numerical value of sight equal to zero, as it's the only number that is equal to the negative version of itself. The further implications of...
Several windows simultaneously shattered, as buckshot tore through half of the room. Lee took a few hits himself, against the side of his abdomen. The wounds felt minor, but the pain was still horrible, and greatly interfered with his ability to find the shift key.
A second round was fired, and Lee grudgingly threw himself to the floor once again. It was there that he first caught sight of the devastation. The shotgun blasts had obliterated virtually everything Lee could see. Five jars, each completely filled with pennies, had all sprayed their contents across the room. No matter which way Lee looked, Lincoln's face was staring back at him, disapprovingly.
Lee’s unseen attacker fired another volley of pellets, this time against Lee's favorite Magritte painting, 'The Treachery of Images', tearing it to pieces. Lee chocked back tears. It had taken years to successfully switch the original painting for a phony, and it'd probably take several more for him to do it again! First, he'd have to revive Magritte, Frankenstein style, and then...
His train of thought was interrupted by a third shot, which did more damage than all the other shots combined. The attacker hit his lamp, the gun taped to the side of his high definition television set, his high definition television set, and even his lucky can of pineapple juice.
Lee's eyes widened in shock, as the can fell from the shelf, and onto the floor. It rolled over slightly, and began seeping juice directly into the carpet.
They had gone too far.
Lee pulled the second gun off the bottom of the chair, and fired randomly outside, in a mindless retaliation against the world in general. It was too dark to confirm whether or not he hit anything, but he vowed to keep firing until he either ran out of bullets, guns, or space in which to use those bullets and guns.
Bullets ran out first, and Lee panicked. Where were his last two guns?
"Damn it! Okay Lee, think logically. Did I leave them with my keys?"
A rain of pellets missed Lee by inches, and shattered his hundred gallon fish tank. One hundred gallons of fish filled water poured directly onto Lee’s pants.
"Did I leave them at work? Is Walter borrowing any? Did I...wait! I know!"
Lee grasped frantically for the Beretta taped to the small of his back, and tore it off.
"YEEEEEEEEEEOWWWWWWWWWW!!! NOW I'M IN A FIGHTING MOOD!"
Lee stepped dramatically towards the window, and randomly fired slug after slug directly across the street. Eventually, a sharp cry erupted, followed by a burst from a shotgun. The shot didn’t hit anywhere near Lee's apartment, and was followed by no more.
Lee continued firing.
When the Beretta ran out of bullets, Lee almost panicked again. Luckily, he managed to catch sight of his last gun, which he had ingeniously taped to the bottom of his shoe.
As Lee finished using up the last of his ammunition, the sound of sirens steadily approached. Time was running out. He had to write fast!
Lee clutched his wounded, bleeding side, and lurched back to his miraculously undamaged computer.
"Okay Lee, keep it together. Only two hundred pages to go..."
A loud, yet professional sounding man slammed his fist on Lee’s door, and demanded his surrender.
"Damn it. I need a new apartment."
Left with no other option, Lee was forced to use his secret escape route, using top secret escape plan Alpha-Zeta. Lee frantically unplugged his monitor, as the police kicked against the door. By the time they eventually smashed through, Lee was hurling the monitor through the only unbroken window in his apartment, the one facing the side alleyway. The police charged forward, but by the time they reached the window, Lee had already jumped.
Lee desperately lunged forward, like a cat, towards the fire escape of the building next to his. It was a full ten foot jump, which was a lot, considering that Lee didn't have a running start. Regardless, it was a risk Lee was willing to take. His only concern was whether or not that old, rusty fire escape was stable enough for a landing.
Lee’s fears were unfounded. Despite its rusty exterior, the fire escape was completely capable supporting Lee’s weight, and undoubtedly would have, had he not missed it by a full two feet.
Lee experienced the pleasant sensation of gravity pulling him downwards. Ironically, the guard railing that saved his life was far less pleasant. When Lee landed gut-first onto the fire escape, the next floor down, the police officers collectively winced, and then held their breath in anticipation.
Lee weakly crawled over the metal bar, and onto his knees. After seeing he was more or less fine, the officers broke into thunderous applause. Lee pulled himself to his feet, and then took a bow.
After a few seconds of confusion, the officers came back to their senses and drew their guns, but it was already too late. Lee had already slammed through an apartment window, and made his escape.
...
"This is Trisha Banks reporting live from the scene. A desperate shootout between two madmen has left dozens injured, and a neighborhood gripped in panic. Apparently, while situated ten floors up, the two men began a desperate shootout from across a busy street. The names of the men are still unknown, but the police have informed us that one of them was killed by the gunfire. The other attacker apparently fled the scene by making a desperate leap across an alleyway, from his window to the fire escape next door. Police are still searching for the man, but have yet to issue...wait! Sir!"
"Yes?"
"Trisha Banks, channel seventeen..."
"Lee, the Discovery channel."
"What?”
“Your turn.”
“Uh...did you see what happened?"
"All things. Fucker hit my painting."
"Please! Language! We're live."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! THE fucker hit my painting."
"Uh..."
"I apologize for my grammar, but I've been shot."
Trisha eagerly motioned for the camera to get a shot of his injury. That was always ratings gold.
"Do you need medical assistance?"
"Can you tie a stitch?"
"Uh..."
"Do you have any rubbing alcohol in your van?"
"Well..."
"Then no, you can’t."
"Did you catch any sight of your attackers?"
"SHIT! There was more than one?!"
"Please sir, I know you're in pain..."
"I want none of this grammar Nazi crap!"
"Sorry?"
"That was a perfectly legitimate interjection! I...I'm sorry, it's this gunshot wound. It's making me grumpy."
"Can you give us a description of the surviving attacker?"
"I'm pretty sure they're all dead. They did stop shooting, after all. My God, the carnage was terrible."
Trisha leaned in close, eager to hear the details of the assault.
"No matter where you looked, it was nothing but juice, broken glass, dead fish, and pictures of Lincoln! It was hell on Earth, make no mistake about it."
Trisha took a moment to collect her thoughts and regain her composure. The cameraman made a cut-throat motion, but Trisha shook her head. She hadn't given up yet.
"Police confirmed that one of the attackers got away. Apparently he leaped out of that window..."
"Oh yeah! You should have seen that jump! It was awesome!"
"Can you describe the man?"
"Sure! He's five foot eleven, one hundred and eighty pounds, blood type A, black haired, heavily scarred, ambidextrous, and has these awesome mutton chops."
Lee motioned towards his own mutton chops as he spoke. Trisha silently reviewed the details of the description, as her cameraman focused upon Lee's face, beard and scars. Trisha ignored the cameraman's desperate motions, and continued,
"Is there anything else you'd like to add?"
"Do you know anyone who needs a roommate?”
...
EDITOR'S NOTE:
Lee has assured me that everything you are about to read is true, with the added caveat that reality itself might be fictional.
Lee is not responsible for any of the consequences that arrive from reading this novel, including: paper cuts, unsettling ideas, mediocre movie adaptations, lucid dreams, bad online fanfics, or injuries resulting from any attempt to recreate a stunt from the story, which Lee assures me were all performed by trained professionals.
Lee has also informed me that he's not responsible for the consequences of any of his own actions, both in real life and in the novel, but has yet to explain why.
In response to my questioning, Lee decreed that I, the editor, am responsible for all the consequences of his actions instead. Despite my best efforts, I have yet to prove him wrong.
Lee has, however, admitted that he is completely at fault for not having an awesome car. Luckily, that was a problem he could fix.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Life is like a pineapple.
Please bear with me.
Wait, you're not bearing with me! Damn it! I can see the arrow going to the google bar. What are you typing...DAVE BARRY?! DAMN IT!
Anyway, for those of you still here, who either don't have a google bar, or are just too lazy to type out 'Dave Barry', I shall explain.
Life is like a pineapple because Pat says it is. You see, last Saturday, my cousin's husband Pat (if you increased my IQ by twenty points, and gave him his own blog, we'd more or less be the same person) and I got into a lengthy argument about human nature, good and evil, and other things that bore the living daylights out of the rest of my family. To get their attention back, Pat challenged me to write how life, and human existence, are like a pineapple.
Why the hell not?
Let's start step by step.
DOCTOR: "Congratulations Mrs. Johnson, it's a pineapple!"
MRS. JOHNSON: "Wow, that explains a lot."
DOCTOR: "Yeah, you really should've gone with the c-section."
Eww...Pat, this isn't going the way I'd hoped. Let's skip ahead.
BULLY: "Hey new kid! Give me your lunch money!"
PINEAPPLE: ...
BULLY: "Oh yeah?!"
*PUNCH*
BULLY: "Damn it!"
Okay...let's skip ahead to the big game.
QUARTERBACK: "Alright pineapple, I'm going to hand you the ball, and then I'm going to block for you, so you can run it in. Ready?
PINEAPPLE: ...
QUARTERBACK: "GO!"
*BALL DROPS NEXT TO PINEAPPLE, AND TEN GUYS TACKLE HIM*
Yeah, that's pretty much how I remember football going. Let's move ahead again.
DEAN: "Congratulations young man! Here's your doctorate in medicine!"
PINEAPPLE: ...
DEAN: "Is this really him? Or did some wise guy just leave a pineapple here?"
On to marriage...
PRIEST: "Do you Miss Davis, take this pineapple, to be your lawfully wedded...Max, this is just a pineapple."
MAX: "I know, but just go along with it!"
PRIEST: "Uh...no."
Vegas it is then!
ELVIS IMPERSONATOR: "So do yew, Muss Davus, take this pineapple to be yer evalovin hubby?"
MISS DAVIS: "I DO!"
MAX: "MOSELTOV!!!"
Okay, what have we forgotten...
DOCTOR: "Congratulations Mrs. Johnson...and by Mrs. Johnson I mean the pineapple's wife, not his mother again..."
MRS. JOHNSON: "Thanks for clearing that up."
DOCTOR: "No problem...it's a pineapple!"
MRS. JOHNSON: "Oh she's adorable! Look honey, she has your...uh...just like...uh...well, she's also a pineapple."
Wow, deja vu. Of course, no life would be complete without a Mexican standoff.
EVIL EUROPEAN GUY FROM DIE HARD: "Give me the microfilm, pineapple, or your daughter dies!"
PINEAPPLE: ...
HE ALSO PLAYED SNAPE: "Don't even think about tossing it to your evil twin either, or else your daughter is fruit salad!"
EVIL PINEAPPLE: ...
PINEAPPLE: ...
SERIOUSLY HE'S AWESOME: "Very well! Then it's time for your daughter to..."
*BANG*
HE MADE ROBIN HOOD WATCHABLE: "UGH!"
*BANG*
DOGMA WAS UNDERRATED: "You traitor! You're not evil at all! You...wait, how are pineapples firing..."
*BANG BANG*
ALAN RICKMAN: "OOF!"
What an ending! Wow, and here I thought the evil pineapple was evil, but it turns out he was nice all along! Wow, I can't wait to see that one again. Well, that's every part of life that doesn't suck. I hope this fully explains to you how life is like a pineapple.
That's right, it isn't. Life isn't anything like a pineapple. That's why life is like a pineapple.
Now that I've made Pat's brain explode, let me explain. Life isn't anything like life.
Go ahead, try to think about life for a moment, you start with a happy child. Wait, that child is often sad, but if you say he's sad, you're ignoring the times when he's happy.
Life is a roller coaster ride, you say? I think anyone that's ever sat through an algebra class would have to disagree with you. It's boring then? Ever get caught in a bold faced lie, and then everyone stares at you, and waits for your explanation? Ever have your boss ask what 'exactly' you do for the company? Ever slip while walking down stairs? No, it's not boring.
People are basically good? No. People are basically bad? Not really. People aren't basically good or bad? Not exactly.
If I said that life was inconsistent, then I'd be ignoring the consistency of science, weather, and daily life.
The people shouting 'everything is changing' is almost completely drowned out by the people shouting 'nothing changes'.
Life is depressing only when it's not thrilling! Life can be bad, but only when it isn't fantastic! Death can be a good thing, but only when you ignore the 5 million reasons it's a bad thing! Life is filled with loneliness, except for all the times you're with loved ones! Night is day! Black is white!
ARGHHHHHH!!! MY BRAIN!!!
Okay Max, step back from the insanity. What do you think pineapple?
PINEAPPLE: ...
MAX: "Dot dot dot? Yeah, I guess that says it all. Life is as much like a pineapple as it is anything else. When you can use contradicting words to describe something, chances are it's simply indescribable. There's no point wrecking your brain over it. You might as well type three dots, shrug and just move on with your life. Come on pineapple, want to get something to eat?"
PINEAPPLE: ...
MAX: "Yeah, that sounds..."
ALAN RICKMAN: "I don't think so!"
MAX: "You! You're supposed to be dead!"
ALAN RICKMAN: "Time to die, Mr. 'Did I Mention I Got Published in Mississippi Crow'!
MAX: "Hitchhiker's Guide should have been funnier."
ALAN RICKMAN: "DIE!"
MAX: "LOVED YOU IN GALAXY QUEST!"
*PINEAPPLE LEAPS IN FRONT OF MAX AND TAKES THE BULLET, AS EVIL PINEAPPLE TACKLES ALAN RICKMAN*
Pineapple! You saved me! How can I...pineapple? PINEAPPLE?!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Please bear with me.
Wait, you're not bearing with me! Damn it! I can see the arrow going to the google bar. What are you typing...DAVE BARRY?! DAMN IT!
Anyway, for those of you still here, who either don't have a google bar, or are just too lazy to type out 'Dave Barry', I shall explain.
Life is like a pineapple because Pat says it is. You see, last Saturday, my cousin's husband Pat (if you increased my IQ by twenty points, and gave him his own blog, we'd more or less be the same person) and I got into a lengthy argument about human nature, good and evil, and other things that bore the living daylights out of the rest of my family. To get their attention back, Pat challenged me to write how life, and human existence, are like a pineapple.
Why the hell not?
Let's start step by step.
DOCTOR: "Congratulations Mrs. Johnson, it's a pineapple!"
MRS. JOHNSON: "Wow, that explains a lot."
DOCTOR: "Yeah, you really should've gone with the c-section."
Eww...Pat, this isn't going the way I'd hoped. Let's skip ahead.
BULLY: "Hey new kid! Give me your lunch money!"
PINEAPPLE: ...
BULLY: "Oh yeah?!"
*PUNCH*
BULLY: "Damn it!"
Okay...let's skip ahead to the big game.
QUARTERBACK: "Alright pineapple, I'm going to hand you the ball, and then I'm going to block for you, so you can run it in. Ready?
PINEAPPLE: ...
QUARTERBACK: "GO!"
*BALL DROPS NEXT TO PINEAPPLE, AND TEN GUYS TACKLE HIM*
Yeah, that's pretty much how I remember football going. Let's move ahead again.
DEAN: "Congratulations young man! Here's your doctorate in medicine!"
PINEAPPLE: ...
DEAN: "Is this really him? Or did some wise guy just leave a pineapple here?"
On to marriage...
PRIEST: "Do you Miss Davis, take this pineapple, to be your lawfully wedded...Max, this is just a pineapple."
MAX: "I know, but just go along with it!"
PRIEST: "Uh...no."
Vegas it is then!
ELVIS IMPERSONATOR: "So do yew, Muss Davus, take this pineapple to be yer evalovin hubby?"
MISS DAVIS: "I DO!"
MAX: "MOSELTOV!!!"
Okay, what have we forgotten...
DOCTOR: "Congratulations Mrs. Johnson...and by Mrs. Johnson I mean the pineapple's wife, not his mother again..."
MRS. JOHNSON: "Thanks for clearing that up."
DOCTOR: "No problem...it's a pineapple!"
MRS. JOHNSON: "Oh she's adorable! Look honey, she has your...uh...just like...uh...well, she's also a pineapple."
Wow, deja vu. Of course, no life would be complete without a Mexican standoff.
EVIL EUROPEAN GUY FROM DIE HARD: "Give me the microfilm, pineapple, or your daughter dies!"
PINEAPPLE: ...
HE ALSO PLAYED SNAPE: "Don't even think about tossing it to your evil twin either, or else your daughter is fruit salad!"
EVIL PINEAPPLE: ...
PINEAPPLE: ...
SERIOUSLY HE'S AWESOME: "Very well! Then it's time for your daughter to..."
*BANG*
HE MADE ROBIN HOOD WATCHABLE: "UGH!"
*BANG*
DOGMA WAS UNDERRATED: "You traitor! You're not evil at all! You...wait, how are pineapples firing..."
*BANG BANG*
ALAN RICKMAN: "OOF!"
What an ending! Wow, and here I thought the evil pineapple was evil, but it turns out he was nice all along! Wow, I can't wait to see that one again. Well, that's every part of life that doesn't suck. I hope this fully explains to you how life is like a pineapple.
That's right, it isn't. Life isn't anything like a pineapple. That's why life is like a pineapple.
Now that I've made Pat's brain explode, let me explain. Life isn't anything like life.
Go ahead, try to think about life for a moment, you start with a happy child. Wait, that child is often sad, but if you say he's sad, you're ignoring the times when he's happy.
Life is a roller coaster ride, you say? I think anyone that's ever sat through an algebra class would have to disagree with you. It's boring then? Ever get caught in a bold faced lie, and then everyone stares at you, and waits for your explanation? Ever have your boss ask what 'exactly' you do for the company? Ever slip while walking down stairs? No, it's not boring.
People are basically good? No. People are basically bad? Not really. People aren't basically good or bad? Not exactly.
If I said that life was inconsistent, then I'd be ignoring the consistency of science, weather, and daily life.
The people shouting 'everything is changing' is almost completely drowned out by the people shouting 'nothing changes'.
Life is depressing only when it's not thrilling! Life can be bad, but only when it isn't fantastic! Death can be a good thing, but only when you ignore the 5 million reasons it's a bad thing! Life is filled with loneliness, except for all the times you're with loved ones! Night is day! Black is white!
ARGHHHHHH!!! MY BRAIN!!!
Okay Max, step back from the insanity. What do you think pineapple?
PINEAPPLE: ...
MAX: "Dot dot dot? Yeah, I guess that says it all. Life is as much like a pineapple as it is anything else. When you can use contradicting words to describe something, chances are it's simply indescribable. There's no point wrecking your brain over it. You might as well type three dots, shrug and just move on with your life. Come on pineapple, want to get something to eat?"
PINEAPPLE: ...
MAX: "Yeah, that sounds..."
ALAN RICKMAN: "I don't think so!"
MAX: "You! You're supposed to be dead!"
ALAN RICKMAN: "Time to die, Mr. 'Did I Mention I Got Published in Mississippi Crow'!
MAX: "Hitchhiker's Guide should have been funnier."
ALAN RICKMAN: "DIE!"
MAX: "LOVED YOU IN GALAXY QUEST!"
*PINEAPPLE LEAPS IN FRONT OF MAX AND TAKES THE BULLET, AS EVIL PINEAPPLE TACKLES ALAN RICKMAN*
Pineapple! You saved me! How can I...pineapple? PINEAPPLE?!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Saturday, October 20, 2007
One Week Since I Pimped My Published Story
Wow, the time does fly! It seems like only yesterday that I was shamelessly promoting myself. Ah...the memories.
www.mississippicrow.com
Issue number five! 'How to Cook Roast Dragon'! Shameless!
Here's the story:
How to Cook Roast Dragon
Uh...you can still buy it though. There's like, other neat stuff in...damn it, I keep accidentally giving away everything for free. What would Machiavelli say? It'd be in Italian for starters. Anyone know Italian? That'd be awkward.
Anyway, let's move on to bigger and better things, such as the subtle art of not losing your pants. Let me set up the scene for you:
I'm having a nice time chatting and drinking coffee with a group of people I recently met, some of whom are women. Eventually, after shamelessly promoting my published story, it was time to leave.
As I stood from my chair, I felt a strange, invisible force pulling my pants directly downwards. I'm serious.
It felt exactly like an invisible man was forcibly pulling my jeans towards my ankles. In reality, my pants probably got stuck to the chair I was sitting in, although I can't see how. I'm still thinking it was some invisible guy. I'm looking at you Christian.
Anyway, no matter how hard I pull up, they were being pulled down just as quickly. Not difficult enough? Not three feet from me was an underage, teenage girl.
Do these kinds of things happen to normal people? Did Abraham Lincoln ever have an invisible force yank down his pants in the middle of a speech? Franklin, certainly, but Lincoln?
I think not. At least nowhere as frequently. I just seem to be a natural magnet for 'Abbot and Costello'-like disasters. Just ask Amber (Wandering Knitter), she'll tell you.
Don't get me wrong, there is an upside to this. You may scoff, but at one point in your life, I'm betting you're going to be stuck in the middle of a sitcom-like catastrophe. You laugh now, but when you have to host a bachelor party and a knitting club in the same building, are you going to be ready?
When the health inspector arrives in the middle of food fight, are you going to know what to say?
When you get trapped in an elevator with your worst enemy, are going to be able to work out your differences without getting 'last season of Mash' serious?
When John Ritter drops dead on camera, are you going to deliver the punch line?!
No! I don't think so! I think you're going to crack. You'll blissfully coast through life, right up until you rent a pony for your daughter's birthday, and your neighbor's dog chases it out into the street, but you don't realize for a half hour, and by the time you find it, it's already wandered into a Walmart, with your daughter still on its back. Oh, and who's that next to them? Why it's your nosy neighbor, shopping with her good friend from out of town, the pope.
Now me, I'm used to shit like that. Take that moment, where an invisible adversary was yanking down my pants in full view of twelve adults, and two underage girls. How would you avoid going to jail? What do you do?
Why, you sit right back down, of course. No, don't struggle with it, that'll only make it worse. Just sit right back down, and look very interested in what everyone's saying. Now, subtly move your hands down and tug frantically at your pants. Figure out where you're stuck. Don't leave until it's free.
There you go! Your pants are free, and you didn't humiliate yourself, or go to jail! Aren't you happy that weird crap like this happens to you on a weekly basis? I sure am. It means I'll always be prepared.
Oh sure, laugh it off. When your evil, identical cousin shows up, I'll be the one laughing! ^_^
Wow, the time does fly! It seems like only yesterday that I was shamelessly promoting myself. Ah...the memories.
www.mississippicrow.com
Issue number five! 'How to Cook Roast Dragon'! Shameless!
Here's the story:
How to Cook Roast Dragon
Uh...you can still buy it though. There's like, other neat stuff in...damn it, I keep accidentally giving away everything for free. What would Machiavelli say? It'd be in Italian for starters. Anyone know Italian? That'd be awkward.
Anyway, let's move on to bigger and better things, such as the subtle art of not losing your pants. Let me set up the scene for you:
I'm having a nice time chatting and drinking coffee with a group of people I recently met, some of whom are women. Eventually, after shamelessly promoting my published story, it was time to leave.
As I stood from my chair, I felt a strange, invisible force pulling my pants directly downwards. I'm serious.
It felt exactly like an invisible man was forcibly pulling my jeans towards my ankles. In reality, my pants probably got stuck to the chair I was sitting in, although I can't see how. I'm still thinking it was some invisible guy. I'm looking at you Christian.
Anyway, no matter how hard I pull up, they were being pulled down just as quickly. Not difficult enough? Not three feet from me was an underage, teenage girl.
Do these kinds of things happen to normal people? Did Abraham Lincoln ever have an invisible force yank down his pants in the middle of a speech? Franklin, certainly, but Lincoln?
I think not. At least nowhere as frequently. I just seem to be a natural magnet for 'Abbot and Costello'-like disasters. Just ask Amber (Wandering Knitter), she'll tell you.
Don't get me wrong, there is an upside to this. You may scoff, but at one point in your life, I'm betting you're going to be stuck in the middle of a sitcom-like catastrophe. You laugh now, but when you have to host a bachelor party and a knitting club in the same building, are you going to be ready?
When the health inspector arrives in the middle of food fight, are you going to know what to say?
When you get trapped in an elevator with your worst enemy, are going to be able to work out your differences without getting 'last season of Mash' serious?
When John Ritter drops dead on camera, are you going to deliver the punch line?!
No! I don't think so! I think you're going to crack. You'll blissfully coast through life, right up until you rent a pony for your daughter's birthday, and your neighbor's dog chases it out into the street, but you don't realize for a half hour, and by the time you find it, it's already wandered into a Walmart, with your daughter still on its back. Oh, and who's that next to them? Why it's your nosy neighbor, shopping with her good friend from out of town, the pope.
Now me, I'm used to shit like that. Take that moment, where an invisible adversary was yanking down my pants in full view of twelve adults, and two underage girls. How would you avoid going to jail? What do you do?
Why, you sit right back down, of course. No, don't struggle with it, that'll only make it worse. Just sit right back down, and look very interested in what everyone's saying. Now, subtly move your hands down and tug frantically at your pants. Figure out where you're stuck. Don't leave until it's free.
There you go! Your pants are free, and you didn't humiliate yourself, or go to jail! Aren't you happy that weird crap like this happens to you on a weekly basis? I sure am. It means I'll always be prepared.
Oh sure, laugh it off. When your evil, identical cousin shows up, I'll be the one laughing! ^_^
Saturday, October 13, 2007
YOU GOT: PUBLISHED PIECE!
Published piece fires three spinning 'ego-booster-bombs' that roll across the ground and explode upon striking an enemy.
GOOD AGAINST: CUT-MAN
SECRET: When fighting Mitch, if you fire 'published piece' at him and press start just when the first bomb hits, he gets a headache and leaves to get a beer from the fridge. When he asks 'do you want one?' select 'yes'.
Then go forward one screen and gun down Dr. Wiley like a dog in the street.
These late 80's video game references doing anything for you?
No? Well, I GOT PUBLISHED, SO WHO CARES!!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Yes, I know I already mentioned it last week, but my pessimistic nature refused to declare it a certainty until I saw the proof. Besides, they're using the FULL VERSION! HOO-HAA! I think Pat will be pleasantly surprised by the picture of Chev Ivins. ^_^
In a few weeks the issue will go on sale, and just to begin the shameless self-pimpage, it's issue #5 of Mississippi Crow, an independent literary magazine, which is very reasonably priced considering the wonderful artwork and content (I mean, my piece is in it, so you know its gotta be great).
You can get the issue at:
www.mississippicrow.com
Now, I know you're asking yourself, where did they even see Max? Did Max hunt them down on a tropical island, one by one cornering them on rocky cliffs, and forcing them to read a short story that he feel would be perfect for their publication?
Believe it or not, that plan didn't work out nearly as well as anticipated. Actually, they saw me at the writing web site I'm a part of. It's a great site for showing around your work, and it's free if you don't want the extra features. You can read my stuff at:
http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/user_id/robertmfreeman
With that, I'm calling it an early week. Work's been busy. If you want more, just check out the stuff above. If you want to sleep anytime soon, I'd avoid 'Apple Core'. I kinda went a bit overboard (intentionally of course) in honor of Halloween.
Take care everyone, and always, thanks for reading!
Published piece fires three spinning 'ego-booster-bombs' that roll across the ground and explode upon striking an enemy.
GOOD AGAINST: CUT-MAN
SECRET: When fighting Mitch, if you fire 'published piece' at him and press start just when the first bomb hits, he gets a headache and leaves to get a beer from the fridge. When he asks 'do you want one?' select 'yes'.
Then go forward one screen and gun down Dr. Wiley like a dog in the street.
These late 80's video game references doing anything for you?
No? Well, I GOT PUBLISHED, SO WHO CARES!!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Yes, I know I already mentioned it last week, but my pessimistic nature refused to declare it a certainty until I saw the proof. Besides, they're using the FULL VERSION! HOO-HAA! I think Pat will be pleasantly surprised by the picture of Chev Ivins. ^_^
In a few weeks the issue will go on sale, and just to begin the shameless self-pimpage, it's issue #5 of Mississippi Crow, an independent literary magazine, which is very reasonably priced considering the wonderful artwork and content (I mean, my piece is in it, so you know its gotta be great).
You can get the issue at:
www.mississippicrow.com
Now, I know you're asking yourself, where did they even see Max? Did Max hunt them down on a tropical island, one by one cornering them on rocky cliffs, and forcing them to read a short story that he feel would be perfect for their publication?
Believe it or not, that plan didn't work out nearly as well as anticipated. Actually, they saw me at the writing web site I'm a part of. It's a great site for showing around your work, and it's free if you don't want the extra features. You can read my stuff at:
http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/user_id/robertmfreeman
With that, I'm calling it an early week. Work's been busy. If you want more, just check out the stuff above. If you want to sleep anytime soon, I'd avoid 'Apple Core'. I kinda went a bit overboard (intentionally of course) in honor of Halloween.
Take care everyone, and always, thanks for reading!
Saturday, October 06, 2007
MAX VERSUS INTERNET REAL HONEST TO GOD FINAL: SECOND LIFE
We're going to go through a simple point versus point style match, and we'll count them up at the end. For those of you just tuning in, my battle against the internet is in sudden death mode (ME: 4, INTERNET: 4, Draw: 1) and for the finale, Second Life is being matched against my 'actual life'. Let's do this!
SECOND LIFE: Requires computer.
REAL LIFE: Requires computer.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Free.
REAL LIFE: Taxes.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Choose your name.
REAL LIFE: I didn't get to choose my name...but my middle name is Max. Awesome.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Basic tutorial takes 30 minutes.
REAL LIFE: Basic tutorial takes 13 years.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: "Someone know hot make box screen?"
REAL LIFE: "I'm looking for a book. It has a brown cover, and chapter one is about a guy driving a truck. Which book is that?"
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Shut people up with the click of a button.
REAL LIFE: Actually have to leave.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Requires Quicktime.
REAL LIFE: Requires Windows Media Player.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Boring free videos.
REAL LIFE: Mostly boring free television.
POINT REAL LIFE...BY A HAIR
SECOND LIFE: Walk like a jerk.
REAL LIFE: Up to you.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Free chain mail shirt.
REAL LIFE: Where the hell's my free chain mail shirt?
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Lift up and fly into the air on a whim.
REAL LIFE: Go to the airport, spend forever going through security, get cramped into seat meant for someone roughly 1/2 your size, sit next to a screaming baby, and watch your free Adam Sandler movie.
POINT SECOND LIFE, WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE
SECOND LIFE: No drowning.
REAL LIFE: Drowning. Man, that sucks.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: What the...I can't put down my arm. Now I'm just waving it around randomly while everyone stares.
REAL LIFE: Rarely happens.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Change day to night with a click.
REAL LIFE: Have to wait for up to twelve hours.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Randomly accosted by virtual pimp.
REAL LIFE: Rarely accosted by real pimp.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Pretend sex.
REAL LIFE: Real sex.
POINT AND PENICILLIN SHOT FOR REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Slow loading times, and buggy animation.
REAL LIFE: Fully realistic, real time animation.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: People hilariously plummet from the sky.
REAL LIFE: Rarely happens. Not so hilarious when it does.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Go anywhere with a click.
REAL LIFE: Has places actually worth going.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Free orgy room.
REAL LIFE: None that I know of.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Sailor Moon themed islands.
REAL LIFE: None. Thank god.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: People randomly hang themselves.
REAL LIFE: Not so often, and never more than once each.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Run over small animals with your car! Ha!
REAL LIFE: Hilarious!
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Not allowed to have fun crashing cars.
REAL LIFE: Crashing cars not fun.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Walk straight through branches.
REAL LIFE: SMACK!
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Somewhat buggy. Get perpetually stuck in place and walk up walls.
REAL LIFE: Hey, I want to walk up walls!
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: People openly furries.
REAL LIFE: People secretly furries.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: No sense of touch or smell.
REAL LIFE: Pain and garbage.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Buy virtual goods and pretend you have them.
REAL LIFE: Buy real goods and actually have them.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Mall has no snacks, munchies, slurpies, frosties or real teenage girls.
REAL LIFE: Has all that, but you're not supposed to look at the teenage girls.
REGARDLESS, POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Fire doesn't affect you.
REAL LIFE: FIRE BAD!
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: No one does anything but obsess on sex and fictional characters.
REAL LIFE: You can see where I'm going with this.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: While minding your own business, turn around to find that a giant, seven foot replica of Rosie the Robot, from the Jetsons, is towering over you, with giant metal mincers, a horrifyingly mishapen head, and a greyish-flesh tone body.
REAL LIFE: Run screaming from the room and hide under bed, secure with the knowledge that you've never brought a Frankensteinesque pop culture reference into the world.
THE REALLY SCARY THING IS THAT SOMEONE SPENT MANY HOURS CREATING THAT. POINT REAL LIFE, WITH A VENGENCE
That's it. It's time to tally up. Drum roll, please.
...
...
Tension!
...
Suspense!
...
Imaginary sound effects!
...
SECOND LIFE: 12
REAL LIFE: 13
I won.
I won?
I WON!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET FINAL SCORE: 5-4-1
YES! The epic journey is over! Odysseus can finally come home, kill some suitors and sleep with his wife! After the good portion of the year, my battle against the over-hyped, porn spewing, ad-machine is over!
I CAN FINALLY SAY IT!
THE INTERNET WINS!!!!!!
Yes, the internet wins.
I got more points, defeated it in glorious combat, and it still wins.
Why?
The internet owns me.
It occurred to me, about halfway through the competition, that I probably should have a final round where I see how long I can go without using the internet...and I can't do it. Even if I only used it for work, I still need the internet for everything now, and it's accessible on virtually every computer on the planet! Limitless information and entertainment is merely one click away!
E-mail! Messaging! Ebay! Meeting people! Game groups! Blogs! Online stores! Wikipedia (remember having to go to the library?)! Cartoons! Porn...which I've heard other people quite enjoy! Research! Google! I-tunes! Free videogames! News! Immediate feedback! Free useful computer tool programs! Coupons! Movie reviews! Free TV shows! Netflix! Youtube!
THE SMUG SATISFACTION OF KNOWING THAT NO MATTER HOW FAT AND STUPID YOU CAN BE, THERE ARE PEOPLE A BILLION TIMES FATTER AND DUMBER!!!
Sigh...I can beat it in a competition, prove it's overrated and silly, but I can't deny that it's the most important invention since the computer itself.
Besides, thanks to the internet, and www.writing.com (screenname 'Blompkin'), I'm actually getting published next month in an independent magazine!
Specifically, 'How to Cook Roast Dragon' is getting published in 'Mississippi Crow' (issue 5), which will soon be available at www.mississippicrow.com!
Yes, I put up a good fight, but I feel like an eight year old who finally beat his seventeen year old brother in chess. Sure, I won, but he can still push me over on a whim, and I need him to drive me to the mall later.
In fact, I'm just going to say it: THE INTERNET RULES! It's most websites that suck!
Just not this one. ^_^
We're going to go through a simple point versus point style match, and we'll count them up at the end. For those of you just tuning in, my battle against the internet is in sudden death mode (ME: 4, INTERNET: 4, Draw: 1) and for the finale, Second Life is being matched against my 'actual life'. Let's do this!
SECOND LIFE: Requires computer.
REAL LIFE: Requires computer.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Free.
REAL LIFE: Taxes.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Choose your name.
REAL LIFE: I didn't get to choose my name...but my middle name is Max. Awesome.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Basic tutorial takes 30 minutes.
REAL LIFE: Basic tutorial takes 13 years.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: "Someone know hot make box screen?"
REAL LIFE: "I'm looking for a book. It has a brown cover, and chapter one is about a guy driving a truck. Which book is that?"
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Shut people up with the click of a button.
REAL LIFE: Actually have to leave.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Requires Quicktime.
REAL LIFE: Requires Windows Media Player.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Boring free videos.
REAL LIFE: Mostly boring free television.
POINT REAL LIFE...BY A HAIR
SECOND LIFE: Walk like a jerk.
REAL LIFE: Up to you.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Free chain mail shirt.
REAL LIFE: Where the hell's my free chain mail shirt?
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Lift up and fly into the air on a whim.
REAL LIFE: Go to the airport, spend forever going through security, get cramped into seat meant for someone roughly 1/2 your size, sit next to a screaming baby, and watch your free Adam Sandler movie.
POINT SECOND LIFE, WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE
SECOND LIFE: No drowning.
REAL LIFE: Drowning. Man, that sucks.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: What the...I can't put down my arm. Now I'm just waving it around randomly while everyone stares.
REAL LIFE: Rarely happens.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Change day to night with a click.
REAL LIFE: Have to wait for up to twelve hours.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Randomly accosted by virtual pimp.
REAL LIFE: Rarely accosted by real pimp.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Pretend sex.
REAL LIFE: Real sex.
POINT AND PENICILLIN SHOT FOR REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Slow loading times, and buggy animation.
REAL LIFE: Fully realistic, real time animation.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: People hilariously plummet from the sky.
REAL LIFE: Rarely happens. Not so hilarious when it does.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Go anywhere with a click.
REAL LIFE: Has places actually worth going.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Free orgy room.
REAL LIFE: None that I know of.
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Sailor Moon themed islands.
REAL LIFE: None. Thank god.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: People randomly hang themselves.
REAL LIFE: Not so often, and never more than once each.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Run over small animals with your car! Ha!
REAL LIFE: Hilarious!
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Not allowed to have fun crashing cars.
REAL LIFE: Crashing cars not fun.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Walk straight through branches.
REAL LIFE: SMACK!
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Somewhat buggy. Get perpetually stuck in place and walk up walls.
REAL LIFE: Hey, I want to walk up walls!
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: People openly furries.
REAL LIFE: People secretly furries.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: No sense of touch or smell.
REAL LIFE: Pain and garbage.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: Buy virtual goods and pretend you have them.
REAL LIFE: Buy real goods and actually have them.
POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Mall has no snacks, munchies, slurpies, frosties or real teenage girls.
REAL LIFE: Has all that, but you're not supposed to look at the teenage girls.
REGARDLESS, POINT REAL LIFE
SECOND LIFE: Fire doesn't affect you.
REAL LIFE: FIRE BAD!
POINT SECOND LIFE
SECOND LIFE: No one does anything but obsess on sex and fictional characters.
REAL LIFE: You can see where I'm going with this.
TIE
SECOND LIFE: While minding your own business, turn around to find that a giant, seven foot replica of Rosie the Robot, from the Jetsons, is towering over you, with giant metal mincers, a horrifyingly mishapen head, and a greyish-flesh tone body.
REAL LIFE: Run screaming from the room and hide under bed, secure with the knowledge that you've never brought a Frankensteinesque pop culture reference into the world.
THE REALLY SCARY THING IS THAT SOMEONE SPENT MANY HOURS CREATING THAT. POINT REAL LIFE, WITH A VENGENCE
That's it. It's time to tally up. Drum roll, please.
...
...
Tension!
...
Suspense!
...
Imaginary sound effects!
...
SECOND LIFE: 12
REAL LIFE: 13
I won.
I won?
I WON!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET FINAL SCORE: 5-4-1
YES! The epic journey is over! Odysseus can finally come home, kill some suitors and sleep with his wife! After the good portion of the year, my battle against the over-hyped, porn spewing, ad-machine is over!
I CAN FINALLY SAY IT!
THE INTERNET WINS!!!!!!
Yes, the internet wins.
I got more points, defeated it in glorious combat, and it still wins.
Why?
The internet owns me.
It occurred to me, about halfway through the competition, that I probably should have a final round where I see how long I can go without using the internet...and I can't do it. Even if I only used it for work, I still need the internet for everything now, and it's accessible on virtually every computer on the planet! Limitless information and entertainment is merely one click away!
E-mail! Messaging! Ebay! Meeting people! Game groups! Blogs! Online stores! Wikipedia (remember having to go to the library?)! Cartoons! Porn...which I've heard other people quite enjoy! Research! Google! I-tunes! Free videogames! News! Immediate feedback! Free useful computer tool programs! Coupons! Movie reviews! Free TV shows! Netflix! Youtube!
THE SMUG SATISFACTION OF KNOWING THAT NO MATTER HOW FAT AND STUPID YOU CAN BE, THERE ARE PEOPLE A BILLION TIMES FATTER AND DUMBER!!!
Sigh...I can beat it in a competition, prove it's overrated and silly, but I can't deny that it's the most important invention since the computer itself.
Besides, thanks to the internet, and www.writing.com (screenname 'Blompkin'), I'm actually getting published next month in an independent magazine!
Specifically, 'How to Cook Roast Dragon' is getting published in 'Mississippi Crow' (issue 5), which will soon be available at www.mississippicrow.com!
Yes, I put up a good fight, but I feel like an eight year old who finally beat his seventeen year old brother in chess. Sure, I won, but he can still push me over on a whim, and I need him to drive me to the mall later.
In fact, I'm just going to say it: THE INTERNET RULES! It's most websites that suck!
Just not this one. ^_^
Saturday, September 15, 2007
MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET FINAL BATTLE: SECOND LIFE
The last challenge, the one that will decide the ultimate conflict between man and machine...well, between geek and network at least...will be done in the internet's solution for a sci-fi 'Snow-crashesque' internet world: Second Life.
Over the course of the week, I'm going to be going into second life and then comparing it to similar tasks/events in first life, and by first life, I mean the real world. Admittedly, the internet is very useful, but it's been touted as nothing less than its own world.
I say that world sucks. You can't touch anything, it gets really slow for no reason, it's filled with really stupid people, and anything you buy is either a picture, sound, or something you're not going to receive for two weeks.
So...this might be kind of a short post, as it's going to be done over the course of a week. To tide you over, here's a silly story I wrote. I hope you like it:
Vince, the Stone with the Sword
It all started when that knight stabbed me.
Seriously, what the hell?
Did I ever do anything to him? No!
Did I insult him, or deal him personal injury? Of course not!
In fact, up to that point, I had not hurt as much as a flea, steal as much as a piece of copper, or said a single word against anyone.
Granted, I was a rock, but that’s no reason to run up and stick a sword in me! I mean, I didn’t even understand the concept of pain until that magic blade nearly split me in two! Why couldn’t he just drop it on the ground? It wasn’t as if he was going to miss and lose the damn thing!
…
That was Vince’s side of the story anyway. The bards and scribes that chronicle the adventures, fates and (inevitable) tragic deaths of heroes, painted a more poetic picture. In their version (which will hereafter be referred to as ‘the truth’), they dramatically describe the ancient Lord Brunswager (Broons-wag-er) the 1st’s battle with the Uberkelwinskisaurus (half dragon, half something that definitely wasn’t a dragon) where the Lord received the fatal blow that would claim his life.
The Lord fought bravely, landing blow after blow, all while deftly avoiding the beast’s horns, claws, beak, tentacles, hooves, tail, fangs, tongue and enormous eyelids.
Sadly, despite the telling blow that Lord Brunswager landed on the creature's exposed brain, he didn’t see its left eyelid coming, and it landed a crushing blink that nearly snapped the brave knight in two.
Up to that point, reality and Vince’s version of the story coincide fairly closely, except Vince claims that the Uberkelwinskisaurus was guarding an incredibly attractive and top heavy piece of limestone in distress.
Going back to the actual events, as the monster recoiled back into its cave to slowly die from its wounds, the triumphant Lord Brunswager found he could do little more than raise his mighty magic blade and cry out, in anguish…well, the scholars disagree on what Lord Brunswager’s last words actually were, before he stabbed the sword into the stone.
Most conservative scholars agree that Lord Brunswager said,
“My blood alone shall wield this sword!”
Some recent historians claim he actually said,
“This sword shall lead my people to their salvation!”
And according to Vince, he said,
“Die you stupid rock!”
…
“So in absolutely no time at all, say…five hundred years or so, the magic leaked completely from the sword into my strapping granite body, and suddenly I’m…what’s the word that means 'able to think'. Thinkable? I want to say…sextant? I’m sextant? Donna, what’s that word?”
Donna was a rather large piece of shale, and of course had nothing to say. That didn’t stop Vince though, who went on with his tirade,
“So it is sextant? Good, I was beginning to worry that I was beginning to lose it. Anyway, I was completely ready to offer the knight a place to sit, where he could tend his wounds, but noooooooooooooo! He had to be the big shot! He had to pick on the defenseless inanimate object! You agree with me, don’t you Phil?”
Phil, a small piece of basalt, had nothing to add to the conversation. He just kind of sat there, inanimate. Vince took that as a yes.
“Exactly my point! I mean, the knight 'probably' had a good reason for running me through like that, but what about my needs? Don’t I have a say, or am I just supposed to lie down and roll over any time a dying hero shows up with an ancient artifact?”
None of the rocks surrounding Vince disagreed with him.
“Exactly! It’s all you can do to keep people from tugging on this thing…”
Vince extended a rocky limb up to the hilt of the magic sword that penetrated his head. He used his other arm to pull himself up a bit, giving him a better view of his surroundings, in order to make sure that their secret meeting was not being spied upon. After being completely satisfied that they were alone, Vince opened his mouth and continued,
“…or keep thieves from trying to hammer and chisel it out. I have to say, if it weren’t for all those pencil heads declaring me a national monument, I never would have made it through those first few centuries…I was young back then…young and foolish.”
…
In fact, Vince didn’t have any thoughts at all until about five hundred years after receiving the sword.
His first thought was: ouch.
He repeated that thought for a short period of time…a decade or two, until he composed himself and realized that he was indeed a he, that he thought therefore he was, then ouch again, that he somehow understood the language of those around him, that there was a difference between right and wrong, ouch once more, and then he ended with the realization that the large piece of quartz across the field was totally making eyes with him.
All other thoughts that Vince has ever had since then, have been more or less irrelevant.
…
“What do you think, Barbara?”
Barbara, the piece of quartz in question, just sat off to the side, coyly. Vince inched a bit closer to her (as a rule, any rock that Vince round attractive was female),
“Oh come on Barbara, you can talk to me. You know as well as anyone how unfairly I’ve been treated! This thinking business has really been getting on my nerves. The last wizard that came around to look at me actually tried to teach me to read. I just drew myself up and shouted, ‘I’LL TEACH YOU TO READ!’
Yeah, that showed him. What do you think, Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle, with her dark and smooth features, remained expressionless and distant (about 35 feet away). Their brief love affair had left her a bit cold towards Vince, at least as far as he was concerned.
“Fine, be that way!”
Vince sighed, which wasn’t easy for a stone, and made a few small hops towards the center of the gathering.
“Well, it’s been really nice talking to you guys, but I’ve got to head off and see how my friends on the other side of the lake or doing. Who knows, maybe that descendant of that evil knight will finally come around to claim…”
A young man peered out of a bush, to get a better view of the bizarre scene. Vince noticed him immediately, and took note of the young man’s great height, strong chin, blue eyes, blond hair and muscular physique. The young man had what was easily recognizable as all the trappings of a hero that had arrived to claim what was rightfully his.
Vince knew exactly what to do.
He threw Phil at him.
The young man dodged and ran off in a blind panic towards the lake, where he nearly tripped over Hubert and struck his head upon Shelly. Vince hopped over to retrieve Phil, and then carefully placed him alongside his other friends. Vince ,the rock, then gave him a thumbs up and announced,
“Me and my buddy Phil, are a mean team.”
Vince then happily hopped away towards the lake, leaving his friends behind (but not before stopping to give Barbara a small kiss upon her cleavage). Perhaps he’d go for a swim, and say hello to all his friends at the lake bottom.
In this way, Vince passed the days, and didn’t seem the slightest bit disturbed that the other rocks didn’t share his intelligence…
Actually, to speak the truth, the rock the Uberkelwinskisaurus died upon received some of the beast’s magical aura, bestowing upon it a measure of intelligence and sentience.
It wasn’t enough to allow him to move, but it was enough to allow him to realize that he probably has it better than most other rocks, and that Vince was a complete lunatic.
Vince calls him Patsy.
The last challenge, the one that will decide the ultimate conflict between man and machine...well, between geek and network at least...will be done in the internet's solution for a sci-fi 'Snow-crashesque' internet world: Second Life.
Over the course of the week, I'm going to be going into second life and then comparing it to similar tasks/events in first life, and by first life, I mean the real world. Admittedly, the internet is very useful, but it's been touted as nothing less than its own world.
I say that world sucks. You can't touch anything, it gets really slow for no reason, it's filled with really stupid people, and anything you buy is either a picture, sound, or something you're not going to receive for two weeks.
So...this might be kind of a short post, as it's going to be done over the course of a week. To tide you over, here's a silly story I wrote. I hope you like it:
Vince, the Stone with the Sword
It all started when that knight stabbed me.
Seriously, what the hell?
Did I ever do anything to him? No!
Did I insult him, or deal him personal injury? Of course not!
In fact, up to that point, I had not hurt as much as a flea, steal as much as a piece of copper, or said a single word against anyone.
Granted, I was a rock, but that’s no reason to run up and stick a sword in me! I mean, I didn’t even understand the concept of pain until that magic blade nearly split me in two! Why couldn’t he just drop it on the ground? It wasn’t as if he was going to miss and lose the damn thing!
…
That was Vince’s side of the story anyway. The bards and scribes that chronicle the adventures, fates and (inevitable) tragic deaths of heroes, painted a more poetic picture. In their version (which will hereafter be referred to as ‘the truth’), they dramatically describe the ancient Lord Brunswager (Broons-wag-er) the 1st’s battle with the Uberkelwinskisaurus (half dragon, half something that definitely wasn’t a dragon) where the Lord received the fatal blow that would claim his life.
The Lord fought bravely, landing blow after blow, all while deftly avoiding the beast’s horns, claws, beak, tentacles, hooves, tail, fangs, tongue and enormous eyelids.
Sadly, despite the telling blow that Lord Brunswager landed on the creature's exposed brain, he didn’t see its left eyelid coming, and it landed a crushing blink that nearly snapped the brave knight in two.
Up to that point, reality and Vince’s version of the story coincide fairly closely, except Vince claims that the Uberkelwinskisaurus was guarding an incredibly attractive and top heavy piece of limestone in distress.
Going back to the actual events, as the monster recoiled back into its cave to slowly die from its wounds, the triumphant Lord Brunswager found he could do little more than raise his mighty magic blade and cry out, in anguish…well, the scholars disagree on what Lord Brunswager’s last words actually were, before he stabbed the sword into the stone.
Most conservative scholars agree that Lord Brunswager said,
“My blood alone shall wield this sword!”
Some recent historians claim he actually said,
“This sword shall lead my people to their salvation!”
And according to Vince, he said,
“Die you stupid rock!”
…
“So in absolutely no time at all, say…five hundred years or so, the magic leaked completely from the sword into my strapping granite body, and suddenly I’m…what’s the word that means 'able to think'. Thinkable? I want to say…sextant? I’m sextant? Donna, what’s that word?”
Donna was a rather large piece of shale, and of course had nothing to say. That didn’t stop Vince though, who went on with his tirade,
“So it is sextant? Good, I was beginning to worry that I was beginning to lose it. Anyway, I was completely ready to offer the knight a place to sit, where he could tend his wounds, but noooooooooooooo! He had to be the big shot! He had to pick on the defenseless inanimate object! You agree with me, don’t you Phil?”
Phil, a small piece of basalt, had nothing to add to the conversation. He just kind of sat there, inanimate. Vince took that as a yes.
“Exactly my point! I mean, the knight 'probably' had a good reason for running me through like that, but what about my needs? Don’t I have a say, or am I just supposed to lie down and roll over any time a dying hero shows up with an ancient artifact?”
None of the rocks surrounding Vince disagreed with him.
“Exactly! It’s all you can do to keep people from tugging on this thing…”
Vince extended a rocky limb up to the hilt of the magic sword that penetrated his head. He used his other arm to pull himself up a bit, giving him a better view of his surroundings, in order to make sure that their secret meeting was not being spied upon. After being completely satisfied that they were alone, Vince opened his mouth and continued,
“…or keep thieves from trying to hammer and chisel it out. I have to say, if it weren’t for all those pencil heads declaring me a national monument, I never would have made it through those first few centuries…I was young back then…young and foolish.”
…
In fact, Vince didn’t have any thoughts at all until about five hundred years after receiving the sword.
His first thought was: ouch.
He repeated that thought for a short period of time…a decade or two, until he composed himself and realized that he was indeed a he, that he thought therefore he was, then ouch again, that he somehow understood the language of those around him, that there was a difference between right and wrong, ouch once more, and then he ended with the realization that the large piece of quartz across the field was totally making eyes with him.
All other thoughts that Vince has ever had since then, have been more or less irrelevant.
…
“What do you think, Barbara?”
Barbara, the piece of quartz in question, just sat off to the side, coyly. Vince inched a bit closer to her (as a rule, any rock that Vince round attractive was female),
“Oh come on Barbara, you can talk to me. You know as well as anyone how unfairly I’ve been treated! This thinking business has really been getting on my nerves. The last wizard that came around to look at me actually tried to teach me to read. I just drew myself up and shouted, ‘I’LL TEACH YOU TO READ!’
Yeah, that showed him. What do you think, Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle, with her dark and smooth features, remained expressionless and distant (about 35 feet away). Their brief love affair had left her a bit cold towards Vince, at least as far as he was concerned.
“Fine, be that way!”
Vince sighed, which wasn’t easy for a stone, and made a few small hops towards the center of the gathering.
“Well, it’s been really nice talking to you guys, but I’ve got to head off and see how my friends on the other side of the lake or doing. Who knows, maybe that descendant of that evil knight will finally come around to claim…”
A young man peered out of a bush, to get a better view of the bizarre scene. Vince noticed him immediately, and took note of the young man’s great height, strong chin, blue eyes, blond hair and muscular physique. The young man had what was easily recognizable as all the trappings of a hero that had arrived to claim what was rightfully his.
Vince knew exactly what to do.
He threw Phil at him.
The young man dodged and ran off in a blind panic towards the lake, where he nearly tripped over Hubert and struck his head upon Shelly. Vince hopped over to retrieve Phil, and then carefully placed him alongside his other friends. Vince ,the rock, then gave him a thumbs up and announced,
“Me and my buddy Phil, are a mean team.”
Vince then happily hopped away towards the lake, leaving his friends behind (but not before stopping to give Barbara a small kiss upon her cleavage). Perhaps he’d go for a swim, and say hello to all his friends at the lake bottom.
In this way, Vince passed the days, and didn’t seem the slightest bit disturbed that the other rocks didn’t share his intelligence…
Actually, to speak the truth, the rock the Uberkelwinskisaurus died upon received some of the beast’s magical aura, bestowing upon it a measure of intelligence and sentience.
It wasn’t enough to allow him to move, but it was enough to allow him to realize that he probably has it better than most other rocks, and that Vince was a complete lunatic.
Vince calls him Patsy.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
MOONINITES ATTACK!
I forgot to mention, before leaving the Quincy Market, I fell down again, this time down a very short flight of stairs.
I went back to get evidence of their steepness and/or disrepair, but found them to be perfectly normal, which made it kind of hard to justify falling down them...especially after running into that poor woman.
It's okay, she was very nice and understanding. You see, there were two steps between the ground and the building, and at a glance, I thought there was only one. My first step landed halfway between two steps, vaulting me forwards, into that poor nice lady. Man, I wasn't even drunk.
I drank more caffeine, just to be sure, and checked out Paul Revere's house. There was a huge line, and he never completed that famous ride anyway, so I decided to skip it.
In case I've never mentioned it, Paul Revere started the ride with two other men, Prescott and Dawes. Shortly after starting, they were intercepted by British troops, who called for their surrender.
Paul Revere surrendered.
Seriously.
Prescott and Dawes rode on, braving the possible hail of bullets, and completed the famous ride that surrender monkey Revere gets credit for. Why does Revere get all that undeserved praise? The poem only mentioned him, and the poem got famous. Either the poet liked him more, or as Amber says, Revere just sounds better in a poem than Prescott or Dawes.
Afterwards I ran into Boston's massive Italian district. You know, I expected a large visible Irish presence (there wasn't), but it was the Italians that worked the hardest at making their presence known, with a very large number of Italian restaurants (I wonder if they still had clam chowder? I'm pretty sure it's mandatory, by Boston law).
A neat, spooky old graveyard was the next stop, and it was there I found one of the most interesting pieces of history I've ever discovered...but I'll wait to tell you about that another time. I want to properly give it justice (also, I left my notes on it at home, so I don't remember the details). Let's just say: it's awesomely spooky.
Before long I was tracing the harbor, passing strange abandoned buildings, all with the signs 'government property' on them. I don't know why the government is calling dibs on Silent Hill locations, but that's their deal. I got lost amongst those weird buildings (and kept an eye out for guys in pyramid shaped hats) and...I FOUND ONE!
The navy!
It was the U.S.S. Constitution, in all its glory!
Wow!
So I wasted no time, and marched right into a Starbucks.
What? It was like 9 billion degrees! I was nearly melting onto the pavement, and only non-stop liquid refreshment from the best corporate coffee retailer kept me from perishing right there on the sidewalk.
The U.S.S. Constitution (or Old Ironsides as it's often called) is a perfectly restored 1800's era ship, that was used to fight the British in the war of 1812, and remains in perfect condition to this day. Of course, now it's permanently harbored in Boston as a floating museum, its Limey killing days far behind it.
Old Ironsides never lost a single battle, never retreated, and got its nickname when a cannonball struck its wooden side dead on...and bounced off, harmlessly. DAMNNNNNN.
Of course, to get to the ship I had to go through a security checkpoint that had all the trimmings. The female navy officer made me dump everything I had into a tray that went through an x-ray machine, while I stepped through a metal detector.
She even asked me to take off my belt, which if you're a guy, is always nice to hear from a woman.
The ship was absolutely amazing, as was the nice, cold beverage at their snack stand afterwards. With that, I was beat. I took a look at the WW2 warship they had next door, but I was too tired to go inside.
That was it, I was spent. It was time for dinner.
And what an unbelievably mediocre dinner it was! Granted, it started with an absolutely wonderful bowl of Clam Chowder, served by a procession of gorgeous waitresses, each wearing a low cut, short black dress, but the 'Shepard's Pie' was absolutely pathetic. I forget the name of the place, but it was a short name, only a few letters long. The people inside seemed to be enjoying themselves, but I can't see why (unless they didn't order entrees).
Imagine this: hamburger, taken directly from the package, minced and cooked with no sauce. Add chopped up generic veggies. Do not season it in any way. Overcook it a little. Throw it into a bowl. Toss generic mashed potatoes on it. Melt on a little cheese. Presto. Crap.
I am not exaggerating when I say they did not flavor it in any way. No sauce, no gravy, and no spices. Christ, I would have settled for salt and pepper at that point.
Still, I was on vacation, and in no mood to fuss. I took two bites, paid the bill, walked across the street, sat in another restaurant, and ordered dinner.
Hot Pots (or something to that effect), was a wonderful Thai restaurant (no clam chowder though). I ordered the duck soup with sticky rice, and this was some of the stickiest rice I've ever had. I almost needed a chisel (it's a good thing). The soup itself was immense in proportion, and had a mini-lantern below it (the kind used for indoor smores), which kept it warm. Despite the several small pieces of bone I had to be on the look out for, it was delicious, a cross between tender duck and sweet, onion soup.
It was then that I came upon my theory for Boston:
The restaurants in Boston can either have good Clam Chowder, or good entrees, but not both. The theory was proven on Sunday, when I ate the last meal of the trip at the wonderful legendary Union Oyster House, where I was treated to a Samuel Adams beer (mediocre, but surprisingly alcoholic), two magnificent Crab Cakes, and a mediocre bowl of clam chowder.
True, it was still the fourth best bowl I've ever eaten, but I was shocked that a restaurant famous for their fantastic seafood would serve up a mediocre bowl of Boston's most legendary dish. It's either one or the other, and frankly, I far preferred the crab cakes. Boston can take it's Shepard pie and shove it.
Well, that was about it. Boston. Wow. It's like a city they made before they knew what cities were supposed to be. At no point was it completely revised or reconstructed. It just started as a small port city, and as the years passed, they just added more and more.
Churches, colleges, wars, politics, businesses, tourists, cartoon aliens and soup.
Boston, I salute you.
Just enough with the Red Sox already. I'm sick of it. Which reminds me of my favorite conversation overheard during the trip, at the Oyster House:
GUY 1: "I love the Red Sox! We should make a band completely based on the Red Sox!
GUY 2: "Well, I really like fruit punch. Are we going to make a band about that too?"
Guy number two, I salute you...for keeping it all in perspective.
I forgot to mention, before leaving the Quincy Market, I fell down again, this time down a very short flight of stairs.
I went back to get evidence of their steepness and/or disrepair, but found them to be perfectly normal, which made it kind of hard to justify falling down them...especially after running into that poor woman.
It's okay, she was very nice and understanding. You see, there were two steps between the ground and the building, and at a glance, I thought there was only one. My first step landed halfway between two steps, vaulting me forwards, into that poor nice lady. Man, I wasn't even drunk.
I drank more caffeine, just to be sure, and checked out Paul Revere's house. There was a huge line, and he never completed that famous ride anyway, so I decided to skip it.
In case I've never mentioned it, Paul Revere started the ride with two other men, Prescott and Dawes. Shortly after starting, they were intercepted by British troops, who called for their surrender.
Paul Revere surrendered.
Seriously.
Prescott and Dawes rode on, braving the possible hail of bullets, and completed the famous ride that surrender monkey Revere gets credit for. Why does Revere get all that undeserved praise? The poem only mentioned him, and the poem got famous. Either the poet liked him more, or as Amber says, Revere just sounds better in a poem than Prescott or Dawes.
Afterwards I ran into Boston's massive Italian district. You know, I expected a large visible Irish presence (there wasn't), but it was the Italians that worked the hardest at making their presence known, with a very large number of Italian restaurants (I wonder if they still had clam chowder? I'm pretty sure it's mandatory, by Boston law).
A neat, spooky old graveyard was the next stop, and it was there I found one of the most interesting pieces of history I've ever discovered...but I'll wait to tell you about that another time. I want to properly give it justice (also, I left my notes on it at home, so I don't remember the details). Let's just say: it's awesomely spooky.
Before long I was tracing the harbor, passing strange abandoned buildings, all with the signs 'government property' on them. I don't know why the government is calling dibs on Silent Hill locations, but that's their deal. I got lost amongst those weird buildings (and kept an eye out for guys in pyramid shaped hats) and...I FOUND ONE!
The navy!
It was the U.S.S. Constitution, in all its glory!
Wow!
So I wasted no time, and marched right into a Starbucks.
What? It was like 9 billion degrees! I was nearly melting onto the pavement, and only non-stop liquid refreshment from the best corporate coffee retailer kept me from perishing right there on the sidewalk.
The U.S.S. Constitution (or Old Ironsides as it's often called) is a perfectly restored 1800's era ship, that was used to fight the British in the war of 1812, and remains in perfect condition to this day. Of course, now it's permanently harbored in Boston as a floating museum, its Limey killing days far behind it.
Old Ironsides never lost a single battle, never retreated, and got its nickname when a cannonball struck its wooden side dead on...and bounced off, harmlessly. DAMNNNNNN.
Of course, to get to the ship I had to go through a security checkpoint that had all the trimmings. The female navy officer made me dump everything I had into a tray that went through an x-ray machine, while I stepped through a metal detector.
She even asked me to take off my belt, which if you're a guy, is always nice to hear from a woman.
The ship was absolutely amazing, as was the nice, cold beverage at their snack stand afterwards. With that, I was beat. I took a look at the WW2 warship they had next door, but I was too tired to go inside.
That was it, I was spent. It was time for dinner.
And what an unbelievably mediocre dinner it was! Granted, it started with an absolutely wonderful bowl of Clam Chowder, served by a procession of gorgeous waitresses, each wearing a low cut, short black dress, but the 'Shepard's Pie' was absolutely pathetic. I forget the name of the place, but it was a short name, only a few letters long. The people inside seemed to be enjoying themselves, but I can't see why (unless they didn't order entrees).
Imagine this: hamburger, taken directly from the package, minced and cooked with no sauce. Add chopped up generic veggies. Do not season it in any way. Overcook it a little. Throw it into a bowl. Toss generic mashed potatoes on it. Melt on a little cheese. Presto. Crap.
I am not exaggerating when I say they did not flavor it in any way. No sauce, no gravy, and no spices. Christ, I would have settled for salt and pepper at that point.
Still, I was on vacation, and in no mood to fuss. I took two bites, paid the bill, walked across the street, sat in another restaurant, and ordered dinner.
Hot Pots (or something to that effect), was a wonderful Thai restaurant (no clam chowder though). I ordered the duck soup with sticky rice, and this was some of the stickiest rice I've ever had. I almost needed a chisel (it's a good thing). The soup itself was immense in proportion, and had a mini-lantern below it (the kind used for indoor smores), which kept it warm. Despite the several small pieces of bone I had to be on the look out for, it was delicious, a cross between tender duck and sweet, onion soup.
It was then that I came upon my theory for Boston:
The restaurants in Boston can either have good Clam Chowder, or good entrees, but not both. The theory was proven on Sunday, when I ate the last meal of the trip at the wonderful legendary Union Oyster House, where I was treated to a Samuel Adams beer (mediocre, but surprisingly alcoholic), two magnificent Crab Cakes, and a mediocre bowl of clam chowder.
True, it was still the fourth best bowl I've ever eaten, but I was shocked that a restaurant famous for their fantastic seafood would serve up a mediocre bowl of Boston's most legendary dish. It's either one or the other, and frankly, I far preferred the crab cakes. Boston can take it's Shepard pie and shove it.
Well, that was about it. Boston. Wow. It's like a city they made before they knew what cities were supposed to be. At no point was it completely revised or reconstructed. It just started as a small port city, and as the years passed, they just added more and more.
Churches, colleges, wars, politics, businesses, tourists, cartoon aliens and soup.
Boston, I salute you.
Just enough with the Red Sox already. I'm sick of it. Which reminds me of my favorite conversation overheard during the trip, at the Oyster House:
GUY 1: "I love the Red Sox! We should make a band completely based on the Red Sox!
GUY 2: "Well, I really like fruit punch. Are we going to make a band about that too?"
Guy number two, I salute you...for keeping it all in perspective.
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