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Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Currently playing: Bon Jovi - Always
Current mood: Pensive
i'm feeling sucky 2day. =( y can't e cos of true luv eva run smooth? y dun she eva luk at mi e same wae dat i luk at her? =( sight... sometymes lyfe is juz not werth living man. i wrote dis peom 4 her. its my 473rd peom i wrote 4 her. wonder if she will eva read it... sight... >_<~
moon.. so brite in da skye.
as brite as ur eye
dat looks not at mi
it makes mi crazy
killing myself
4 u
2day was not a gd day cos veri boring. -_- went school den study 4 a while. teachert call me a "retad". wonder wat it means... saw her in class but dun dare tok 2 her. wrote another peom 4 her but dun tink she will eva see it. lyfe's so depressing... den u die. =(
i h8 this man. anyway, hope u guyz haf a nyce day. may ur wishes all cum thru n may ur lyfe be filled wif luv. =)
got another pimple 2day. decided to name it "randy". wrote another peom 4 her. >_<
my luv 4 u is like the c
so deep n so large lyke the gap b/w u n mi
1 day mabbe u will noe how i feel
dat day den my dreams will be reel
still hoping...
hope u guyz likes it... boring lyfe... -_-
Monday, April 26, 2004
I hate roaches. They're the filthiest creatures ever to roam the earth. Roaches are evolutionarily designed to disgust people. They always look greasy and they have long antennae that are never still. Their legs are fucking hairy. They run in sudden spurts and they're apallingly stupid. The worst thing is that some of the motherfuckers can fly. Most insects understand danger and the fact that a creature 100 times larger than themselves is to be avoided. Not roaches, though. You stamp your foot near one, and the little motherfucker will run towards you. What the fuck is up with that? Do they not know that we can flatten them without breaking a sweat?
Last night, a huge roach landed on my table. I had no bug spray, and anyway, I doubt that my monitor would have benefited from the spray. So I bided my time and when the fucker came out, I sprayed it with air freshener. I was hoping that it would run out because cockroaches stink real bad when you squash them and I didn't want to stink up my room, but it kept playing hide and seek with me in the room. Finally, I managed to get it out of my room. I debated with myself a little bit about whether I should spare the fucker, but by then it had already become a vendetta, so I whacked it with a slipper. BAM! The filthy sonofabitch never knew what hit him. Adrian 1, roaches 0. MUAHAHAHAHA!
Anyways, after that I was telling the Evil American about the roach and here's what he said.
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
dude
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
you know what works good on roaches?
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
grease cutting
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
um
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
like
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
cleaner
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
spray cleaner for like counter tops and stoves
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
seriously
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
eats their insides
StereoMan (4:08 AM) :
a roach is like 80% fat
And you guys wonder why I call him evil...
Saturday, April 24, 2004
What the fuck is up with birthdays nowadays? Why can't people just celebrate their birthdays quietly? What's with all the fucking water bombs and sabotaging? I wouldn't mind so much if they were quiet about it, but no, they have to scream and laugh loudly, running around pushing each other like a bunch of fucking 9 year old kids. What the fuck is up with that? So it's your/your friend's birthday. Get over it already. Nobody fucking cares. Why celebrate birthdays anyway? It's only one year closer to your death, for chrissake. You might as well celebrate car accidents or hold funeral parties. Actually, that would be kind of cool, wouldn't it?
"Hey, Ben died last night."
"All right! Where will the funeral be held? Can I bring my girlfriend? We could get totally smashed."
There'd be people dancing with the corpse and everything. Dumbasses. People are really stupid. I hate men. With the exception of myself and my friends, men are the most ridiculous creatures ever to walk the earth. Every man is just two steps away from complete idiocy.
Just now, some idiots were celebrating a birthday a few floors down. Noisily. I was pissed, so I went downstairs with a machete and crashed their party by gutting the birthday boy like a fish. At first, they looked dumbfounded, but they started screaming and running when i kicked his limp body off my machete and licked the blood off. Of course, all the noise just irritated me even more and so I chased them, dismembering a few more of them. They were really stupid. There was only one of me and many of them. If they'd just turned around and fought in the first place, they'd have kicked my ass, but then they ran off and even separated from each other.
For some strange reason, I just walked slowly after them and I could catch up with them even though they were running from me. So I stalked this girl and she stupidly ran into the woods. Why the hell did she do that? Was it because she thought the trees would hide her or something? Anyway, I cornered her after a while and slowly cut her to pieces. Not before the branches of the trees had nearly stripped her naked (as they always seem to do) of course. Of course I did not violate her, what kind of sicko do you think I am? I merely wanted to kill people who threw noisy parties.
So anyway, I hunted them down one by one, and it was only when there were only two or three guys left alive that they finally decided to fight me. Again, for some strange reason, all the previous prowess I had exhibited when I had been dealing with an entire horde of teenagers deserted me when I was finally faced with only two or three. They made ingenious use of their surroundings to batter at me, but I was resilient to an almost superhuman degree. Well, I guess getting impaled would have killed most people, but I could somehow keep moving and going after them. Most serial killers who were even slightly human would have tried to escape after having been impaled, engulfed in flame or had a limb hacked off, but I'm way more dedicated to my craft than that. No, I did not flee just because my head got bashed by a tree trunk or just because there was a spear sticking out of my body, even though that hurts like hell. Neither will I quit going after my victims just because I was scalded and charred beyond all recognition because how wimpy is that? I kept after these three kids and finally got drowned in a lake or decapitated or something.
I will come back, though. I always do. Whenever kids get noisy at parties or something, I will come back to slice and dice and dismember young girls and kill the cops who get in my way (even though they always shoot me a bunch of times). Because people having birthday parties are irritating.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Here's something hilarious that I snagged from Ivan's blog. Enjoy. In case any of you start thinking that I've mellowed, this is just me being nice to put all you suckers off your guards.
There will be no further entries till after Friday because of *gulp* exams. Have fun, y'all.
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
From the tagboard:
william: Enjoy life by all means, live your life to your max.
william: Afterall, i could just as easily call you a deluded fanatic denying truth.
william: I applaud your thread on attempts to search for the truth. As we respect your opinion that christianity is wrong, please do not call it deluded fantasies
Thanks for the input, William. Some dude named H. L. Mencken once said this. "We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart." That has no bearing on what I'm about to say, but I just thought it was worth repeating.
You see, William, for one thing, if it is my belief that Christianity is wrong, it logically follows that I think the whole thing is a deluded fantasy. For another, you'll note that what I said was this:
"Mistake me not, humble readers. I do not seek to turn you from whatever paths you have chosen. I have been through that stage and no longer find any meaning to it. If it makes you happy and brings meaning to your life yet does not harm others, you're welcome to whatever deluded fantasies you harbour."
There was no specific mention of Christianity, nor was there an intent to pinpoint that particular faith. I think all beliefs of any form in the supernatural are deluded fantasies, including Islam, Taoism, Christianity, Catholicism, Satanism, Wicca, Judaism, mysticism, and whatnot. There have been tons of blood shed over this kind of issues, simply because people like you (well, maybe not you in particular, but the difference is only a matter of degree) take it personally when other people do not believe as you do and feel a need to compel them to follow your particular brand of idiocy. I think that is the real pity, that people should lose their lives over their beliefs of what lies beyond life.
You see, I really do not mind, nor do I care that religious people think I'm a deluded fanatic denying the truth, though I must say I am somewhat nonplussed at how you came to the conclusion that I'm fanatical about anything. Their religious beliefs and their individual perspectives indubitably compel them to think that I am in denial, something which I understand. I consider it a logical conclusion given their basic premises. Who is the more fanatical, however? The one who states his beliefs but leaves others to theirs? Or the one who attempts to alter (albeit politely) what that first person might say?
Lastly, this may sound abrupt to you, but I think it has to be said. What I've said above was really for other readers. All I really need to say to you, William, is this. My blog, my opinions, my terms, my words. I did not go to you asking you to come here. You came on your own, so if you don't like it, you see that little [x] button on the top right hand corner of your browser? Click it.
What happens after you die? I mean, what happens in the world of the living? I don't believe in the afterlife, so I don't care about it. Life should be for the living. I think you should live life as if there is no afterlife because doing otherwise just fucks the world of the living up. I mean, the only reason why there are suicide bombers is that they believe in some kind of paradise where they will go to and be rewarded for their actions after they die. I don't believe that there would be many suicide bombers willing to sacrifice themselves for their people/country if they didn't believe that some part of them lives on after death. If it's proven that there's no afterlife, I think the world would be a much better place. Many more people would follow the Golden Rule, for one thing, because it doesn't make sense to be nasty to other people if you know that they might be nasty to you in return sometime in the future. Then again, perhaps I credit people with too much intelligence. A belief in an unproven afterlife is illogical all by itself anyway, but many people still believe in one. Oh well, I digress.
A very long time ago, when I was just a little boyo, I was sitting around while my mother was cooking and I started to imagine what it would be like to be dead. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have my sense of self dissolve completely, to experience complete oblivion. Think of it. To feel nothing because there's no you to feel. To not be you. To not be anything. To not be. And suddenly, I managed it (yes, I was precocious) and I started to cry. Needless to say, my dear old mum tried to comfort me and asked me what was wrong. I told her, but I think that she did not understand. As adults are wont to do, she tried to soothe my fears by telling me that there was nothing to be afraid of, that death was just like sleeping, but even at that tender age, I knew that it was not so. Sleep is very much different from complete oblivion. Seeing how much I'd upset my mother, however, I composed myself and stopped crying. I pretended that the dark moment had gone away. Those of you who have read Anne Rice's "The Vampire Lestat" and understood it will recall that she wrote of a similar experience that Lestat had, and what Lestat said about it. It never did go away, really.
So I was afraid and I looked for all sorts of proof that some part of me will live on after my death. I had come from a Buddhist background but it happened to be the utilitarian Chinese version of Buddhism, which incorporated fragments of traditional Chinese ancestral worship and Taoism. I saw no reason to believe that my ancestors were still hanging around watching me. They certainly haven't helped me much in life, nor have they ever responded to my attempts to reach them. I felt fairly certain that the early Taoists didn't believe in life after death either, or, at least if they did, they didn't believe that it was all peaches and roses, else they would not have tried so hard to search for or create the elixir of immortality. I rejected all these beliefs and searched for my answers in the original teachings of Buddha. I was about 13 at the time and already I was anxious that my youth (and life) was fading fast. Anyway, after trying my best to separate the bullshit mythology added on by lesser mortals from the true underlying philosophy of Buddhism, I came to the (perhaps irreverent) conclusion that Sukyamuni was, in fact, an atheist.
Allow me to summarise my understanding of Buddhism and thus elaborate on the reasons for my peculiar belief. In a nutshell, Buddhism states that life is a cycle of suffering. Being born was a major pain in the ass, getting sick is a major pain in the ass, growing old will be a major pain in the ass and dying will be the biggest pain (not just in the ass this time) of all. I believe that Buddha came to the conclusion that there is no afterlife and that the religion of the day (Hinduism) was a sham. Furthermore, the society from which he originated was rigidly divided into castes and there was no way for a peasant to better their lot in life. Hinduism, with its belief in reincarnation, had that covered, though. If you're good and do what a person in your caste is supposed to do, there is a chance that you'll move up in your next life and maybe eventually be reborn as one of the gods themselves. Buddha, I think, did not believe in that bullshit either. My belief is that he saw no reason to believe in the afterlife and thus everyone was doomed to having only this life. How tragic that must be, then, for those unfortunate enough to be born into the lower castes. They suffer all through their lives on this earth believing that they will do better in the next life, and then they are gone. Forever.
Buddha himself was born as a prince, but he realised early in life that someday, he, too, must die. So he searched for an answer, trying out all the paths towards enlightenment that were available at the time before coming to the realisation that it was all pure horse crap. He realised that this life was all anyone ever got, and he was cool with that. That, I believe, is the true meaning of Nirvana, being cool with dying. See, after achieving Nirvana, you supposedly break free of the cycle of reincarnation and suffering. How do I reconcile this core tenet of the Buddhist faith with my belief that Buddha was an atheist? Simple. Buddha decided that no one would believe him (or, indeed, be comforted even if they believed) if he said that this life is the only one that anyone gets. So he incorporates the dogmas of the current day into the philosophy that he taught. His motive was simply that everyone should be nice to every other living thing, because life is all the more precious if there is no afterlife. The smart part is that he didn't tell any lies either. By stating that upon attaining Nirvana, one broke free of the cycle of rebirth, he was simply saying that when you attained enlightenment, you broke free of superstition and religion. You realised that when you die, that's it. No more rebirth or anything else. So by teaching what he taught, he got people to be nice to each other in this life, which I believe was what mattered to him.
Why did I reject Buddhism, since I believed that its founder had realised the true nature of things? The first reason is that the concept of Nirvana was entirely too nihilistic for my taste. As you may recall, I was searching for proof that oblivion was not the only thing I had to look forward to eventually. The second reason was altogether more prosaic. I did not want to give up eating meat, because it just tastes good. I am certainly not as selfless as Buddha probably was. I only cared about my own suffering and those of the people I love. I cared about the suffering of the entire human race too, but to an altogether much lesser degree. I do not give a shit about the animals because plants are living things too. If you're going to become a vegetarian out of respect for all life, you might as well stop eating plants too. Why draw the arbitrary line at animals? I respect the sanctity of human life wherever possible because at least they belong to my species. That is not to say that I do not attach any value to the lives of other life forms. I just think that my life is much more important to me. Anyway, on with the story of my search for reassurance.
When I entered a missionary school, I thought I had found my answer. Here was what I had been looking for. Assurance that some part of me is immortal and would live on after my death. Something that millions of others believed in. What's more, all that was required to guarantee my passage to paradise was an act of faith. Surely it could not be that easy? Now, I am the sort of person who likes to find out everything I can about something that I plan to follow. Since I was planning to worship God, what better place to start looking for information than the Bible, on which all belief in Him was based? So I read the Bible from the beginning to the end. The more I read, the more I was filled with dismay at what I discovered. Here was a being who purported to be perfect, yet created humans for the express purpose of glorifying and worshipping him. Allow me to explain. As I understand it, the state of perfection implies completeness. Why would a perfect being ever create anything? If God was perfect before we came along, He did not need us. Why did he create us then? I do not feel like explaining why it is so, save to say that if you can't see the reason, you will in all probability never see it. Which is a good thing for you. Moving on, then. God is also omnipotent and omniscient, so he must always have known that after creating the universe as he did, Adam and Eve (and many, many other people) would sin. Being omnipotent, he certainly could have created the universe to be otherwise, yet he didn't. Then he proceeds to condemn us all for it. He destroyed whole cities because they sinned, when he created the universe such that they were bound to do so eventually. I began to see that for it to be true that God is omnipotent and omniscient, he must not have created us at all. There are tons of other contradictions in the Bible, but I shall not expound on them here, the reason being that other people have done it to death already. Suffice it to say that the more I read the Bible, the more I was convinced that what was written in it could not be true.
Mistake me not, humble readers. I do not seek to turn you from whatever paths you have chosen. I have been through that stage and no longer find any meaning to it. If it makes you happy and brings meaning to your life yet does not harm others, you're welcome to whatever deluded fantasies you harbour. For myself, I have always been one who wanted the truth, no matter what the consequences. So far, the only logical conclusion I can draw is still that this life is all we get. So I am always sad when someone I care about leaves this world for good, because I am almost completely certain that I will never see him or her ever again. I have resolved to enjoy this life as much as possible, as long as no harm is caused to those whom I love. So what happens after I die, apart from decomposition? If I have money left behind, I would wish it to go to those whom I have loved in life, that they may enjoy their lives more. Also, I would wish that all who attend my funeral will be happy and sing and dance at my wake, because life is too short and altogether too precious to waste by being unhappy. I would probably get some DJ to spin at my funeral. Yes, I think my funeral would kick major league ass. As Buddha himself might have said, enjoy this life, and try to help others enjoy it too.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Lyley the whiney is back again. I can't think of a reason for that. Either he likes being called a moron, or he just has to know what was said about him because he's really in love with himself. Or *gasp* he likes to read the shit I write!
"nope. not a masochist. i just don't give a fuck : )
btw, thanks for the free publicity.
and i'll get back to you when i'm twenty-five."
No problem. I like to cater to all my readers' tastes and it occurred to me that among all my links, there is none quite as whiney as yours. Some people might like that stuff. ;)
Monday, April 19, 2004
Well, Lyley the whiney has replied.
"hrmm... how did you know my age anyway? wait: you actually went through my archives because the only time i mentioned it was in my first post."
Actually, I did not go through them. I did the smart thing and went to the earliest one because that's where all the unoriginal people give self-intros. And I looked up your age only because you called me a kid. Also, you mentioned it in more than one post. I know that because you were interesting enough to warrant me reading more than one post. Consider that a compliment.
"i got your address via blogger - the recently updated blogs area.
oh - and i'm not a moron (although sometimes i think i'm insane, which i probably am, but that's not the point). but of course i'd be wasting my time if i try to make you think otherwise so i won't.
and i do tend to whine a lot. it's my thing.
have a nice day."
Well, just as being whiney is your schtick, being abrasive on my blog is mine. It's all in the name of good, clean fun, dude. You don't seriously think that my friends would stick around if I called them idiots and meant it, do you? Actually, they probably would because they're a bunch of spineless assholes who would be nothing without me. Anyway, you called me a "poor [sic] kid" without even knowing my age, so I called you a moron. One good turn deserves another, see?
"two other things:
1. in all probability my mental age is a match for yours."
Dude, you're 17. People know fuck all at 17. You'll agree with me when you're 25 (hint).
"2. yes, you may link me."
Why, thank you. By the way, if you read my blog, you have to be a masochist and be able to shrug off such things as being called a moron, idiot or retard. I fuck everybody up, regardless of race, language, religion or their relationship with me.
Which is more important? Content or packaging? If someone says something smart, but his language sucks, is what he says still smart? Of course! Not just yeah, but fuck, yeah! What am I referring to, you might ask? I'm referring to websites. Whether they be blogs, corporate websites or personal homepages, the most important thing about them has got to be the content. Most people overlook that, which is why about 80% of the fucking internet should be taken offline. How does any website suck? Let me count the ways.
First and foremost, of course, comes the blogs. This, as the less unobservant of you might have noticed by now, is one of my pet peeves. A friend of mine once condemned a blog that I like to read just because the English that it's written in is less than perfect. Well, perfect English it may not be written in, but what attracted me to the blog was not a clever turn of phrase but the content. Yes, some phrases the author uses may be jarring to those who are anal-retentive, but she does have intelligent opinions, which is what should matter. Added to that, I also find her funny, but that is a matter of taste, of course. Because of that, I ignore her smugness at being famous and her bad English. Then this friend of mine showed me a blog which she liked because it "paints pictures". I was aghast at the amount of redundant bombast in that blog. Mistake me not, humble readers, if you're the sort who blogs as if writing a diary and you don't go around showing your blog to other people, then whatever you write on your blog is your own damned business. However, if you want other people to read your blog, then it had better be about something. What's the use of typing with a thesaurus beside your keyboard when all you're trying to say is "I made out with this girl I don't intend to marry"? What kind of a fucking moron does that? So you made out with the bitch. Yay for you. Now, fuck off. Jeez, get the fuck over yourself already. As another friend of mine was telling me while I was typing this entry, "It paints pictures. Of the insides of his intestines". In other words, it's crap. Crap is crap, no wonder how you disguise it with long words, duh.
Then we come to the over-enthusiastic flash users. For your fucking information, there are actually still people on this planet who don't use a fucking broadband connection and who thus wouldn't take too kindly to having to wait for your fucking precious flashy animations to download. You lose at least a quarter of your potential audience if you start using flash to do everything. Of course, the other 75% are fucking childish morons who can and will be impressed by bright lights and moving images. These people of course do not realise that flash animations are really not that hard to do. All you really have to do is to buy the fucking software, read the help files, and point and click. Fuck that wimpy shit. It takes a helluva lot more talent to do a decent site using just HTML and javascript, and the page loads a helluva lot faster too. Of course, most people are dumb so they don't realise this. They see a flash animation and go "ooh, this is such a nice site, so whatever is inside must be good stuff too." Bullshit. If you can't tell the difference between zero-content-but-nifty-looking-slush and a site with good content and no unnecessary graphics, you should just give your computer to someone more deserving.
Then there are the people who do know how to use HTML but fuck it up anyway. Use either a light background with dark text or a dark background with light text, you idiots. When a surfer looks at your site, he does not want to be blinded by all the fucking conceivable shades of the rainbow. Concentrate on your fucking content instead of trying to impress us with your knowledge of how to use HTML to make text blink or flash. Concentrate on the content instead of trying to crash our machines with popups. Concentrate on the content instead of experimenting with 72 different kinds of fonts.
Remember: content is always more important than appearance. Well, except where chicks are concerned, of course. Before you accuse me of hypocrisy, I would like to invite you to kiss my ass. I have the right to decide where or who to put my dick into, asshole.
Saturday, April 17, 2004
And the moron of the day is... Lyle! Congratulations, whoever the fuck you are. In response to my post about Hellboy, Lyle said:
"haha,you're a romantic. and you call yourself perfect and infallible? poor kid
:p"
Thanks for the input, Lyle. You're 17 and you call me a kid? What an idiot. How the fuck did you get my blog address anyway? Well, kiddo, let's take a stab at some circular logic which all monotheistic adherents should be familiar with. My blog contains the infallible word of Me because I say so and I am perfect. You know I am infallible and perfect because My blog, which contains the infallible word of Me, says so. There you go.
Oh, by the way, your blog is well-written, if a trifle whiney. Mind if I link you? :p
People are really stupid. They have so many sacred cows that it's a wonder they don't get stampeded. Take, for example, internet flames on forums or IRC. Apparently, you can call the other party whatever you like (if the forum is not moderated, that is) and no one gives a shit. The moment you start on someone's parents, however, all the other forum members/spectators get all shocked and horrified and go "ooh, you should leave his parents out of the picture". No one ever says that to me, because I'll just start on their parents, heheh. But we digress.
See, the point here is that bringing other people's parents into the picture is almost universally acknowledged as childish. So why let childish behaviour bother you? Just because some anonymous idiot on the internet says your mother is a slut, doesn't mean that your mother is one, so why get angry? If your mother is really a slut, then the bugger would just be speaking the truth, so again, why would you get angry? Only idiots get angry when flaming, and that's why they always lose arguments. Anger removes your focus and your capacity for biting insults. Nothing amuses me more than to watch the replies of some moron who actually dared to oppose me get progressively less coherent and more childish. 'Yo mama' insults are just another tool in the armoury of the seasoned internet warrior. Being such a swell guy, I shall favour you humble readers with some tips on internet flaming gleaned from long years of experience and countless victorious battles that you fucking chumps would probably never be able to figure out on your own.
1) It's about winning and losing.
Never lose sight of that. Don't be naive. Whether you're right or not doesn't matter. The spectators are not interested in that. They're interested in seeing blood. This is a mentality that has been with humankind since the very beginning. An internet flaming session is very much like a modern version of two gladiators facing off in an arena in ancient Rome with the spectators baying for blood. It doesn't matter whose blood is spilt in the end, so long as blood is spilt. No one likes to see a peaceful resolution either. Everyone just wants to see someone get so badly smacked down that he leaves the forum in shame, his metaphorical lifeblood gouting onto the metaphorical dirt floor of the metaphorical arena. It's not about who's right or wrong because whatever you're arguing about usually affects fuck all in the real world. I've been wrong before, but I still kicked my opponent's ass. Actually I was just kidding. I'm never wrong because I'm perfect, but if I had been, I would have kicked ass anyway because I'm a fucking awesome fellow.
2) No man is an island.
Yes, you've heard it. An average flame warrior may usually flame another person and have a reasonable chance of emerging triumphant. Some of the more powerful can take on two or three, maybe even four and still win the day with skill to spare. Then there are the godlike ones, like yours truly, who can take on entire forums and bend them to his will. Attacks bounce off such a one like bullets bounce off Godzilla. However, people like me are rare. Actually, I think I'm the only one. Ordinary chumps like you had better stick to the "divide and conquer" strategy. Never antagonise more than one person at a time. Get more people on your side. Woo potential allies, even if you detest them. Their time will eventually come because everyone makes mistakes. Except for me, of course. Anyway, get rid of opponents one at a time. Be patient and before you know it, the forum will only consist of your henchmen and cronies who are either stupid enough to agree with you on every fucking thing, or who are too terrified of you to ever disagree with you. Then your work will be complete. You will have recreated the forum in your own image and can therefore move on to other forums.
3) Whoever gets angry first, loses.
This is actually very closely related to the first point. It's about winning and losing. If you win, you're a winner and if you lose, you're a fucking loser, regardless of whether you're right or wrong about the subject being discussed. The subject is no more than an excuse to flame, really. It's peripheral to what's really going on: the fight for survival. The problem is, people usually like to think of themselves as being smarter than they really are. They like to think of themselves as rational beings rather than as the fucking bundle of nerves responding automatically to external stimuli that they are in reality. So they like to see the combatants in a flame war make the token genuflections towards the altar of objectivity. So whenever a combatant loses his temper and is reduced to mindless insults, it's like when a gladiator receives a mortal wound and flails about desperately with his weapon, not knowing that it's already over. The triumphant one may now coldly and surgically cut the fucking loser to pieces by deftly and easily parrying his clumsy strikes and employing devastatingly sarcastic ripostes. In most cases, when a combatant loses his temper, his opponent can just sit back and watch the spectators use the cudgels of "you're-not-being-logical-about-this-anymore" to bludgeon him to death. This brings us to the fourth point.
4) It's only the fucking internet, for fuck's sake.
This cannot be stressed enough. Have no sacred cows when you're flaming, or you'll probably end up being served as roast beef on a platter to the rest of the fucking forum. Whether you're a Christian, a filial child, a loving spouse or a devoted parent in real life, lose that shit when you're on the internet. Experienced warriors will, after some probing thrusts, find your Achilles' heel and ruthlessly stab it repeatedly until you're mortally wounded, tripping over your own entrails and incapable of anything beyond brandishing your keyboard in a vaguely threatening way. The Tao of the flame warrior is emptiness. Nothing must get to you and all illusions must be stripped away. Only when there are no emotions in your mind will you be invulnerable. Be like the wind, untouchable and elusive. Be like the praying mantis, still and deadly. Be like the cobra, swift and venomous.
And there you have it, my guide to successful internet flaming. Don't be mistaken, humble reader, following this guide won't make you me, but it will hopefully change you from hopelessly inept to merely woefully incompetent. That should be enough for you to deal with all the other retards surfing around aimlessly on the internet these days.
Friday, April 16, 2004
Right, what the fuck is up with friendster? Why do people keep asking me if I'm on friendster and then acting all surprised when I tell them that I'm not? Friendster is one of the lamest pieces of shit that's floating around on the internet today. Seriously, what the fuck can you accomplish on friendster? Diddly-squat, that's what. There's no games, not even a IM program. The server is laggy too. About all you can do is write testimonials. What the fuck for? Some people write testimonials for friends. Yes, genius, I'm sure his other friends don't already know what kind of a person he is. That's why they hang out with him. And it's real important too, because we all know that the first thing a prospective employer wants to see is your fucking friendster testimonials and how big your circle of friends is (and perhaps whether his daughter is in there), but we'll get to that later.
Most of the testimonials are fucking lame anyway. They're all basically variations on the theme of "so-and-so is a pretty cool guy, yada yada yada, boring specific details that no one else in the world could possibly be interested in, yada yada yada". I mean, come on, like I've said before, there are more than 6 billion fartarounds crawling around inanely on the planet today. Why the fuck do you think anyone would be interested in knowing about you in particular? Why the fuck do you think you matter? The simple answer here is obviously that you don't. No one gives a shit about you. Testimonials affect exactly dick. Unless, of course, the reader of the testimonial is as stupid as you are, which he or she probably is. The only real reason why friendster works is because most people are stupid and will believe anything they see online.
Some of my friends say that friendster is great for finding old friends. Come the fuck on, guys, if you were such great friends, why the fuck did you lose contact in the first place? One or the other of you must have not given a shit at some point in time. Are you sure you need such an apathetic person in your life again? Is he sure he needs one? Let's face it. You ditched him or he ditched you, probably for good reason because in all likelihood, you both suck. If you ever encounter each other, whether online or in real life, the thing to do is to pretend you've never set eyes on each other in your lives and carefully avoid contact unless there were tangible benefits to be had, such as sex or money. Other than that, why bother? You'll only drift apart again after this silly shallow fad is over.
The worst is when people get to know other people on friendster after seeing their pictures or reading their testimonials. Then they assume that they know that person inside out already and start writing testimonials about people they have never met! What the fuck is up with that? Some people have "friends" numbering more than 500 on friendster, or so I've heard (I do not do friendster). My guess is that they're either hot chicks or people who put up pictures of hot chicks in their profiles. What's more, they're stupid hot chicks if they actually buy into the thought that these 500 people, out of whom 99% are male, are really friends of theirs. Men don't have platonic friends. We just have women we haven't fucked yet, and that's the goddamned truth, even if I first heard it from Chris Rock.
So the next time any of you wants to ask me whether I'm on friendster, kindly get the fuck out of my face before I shoot you, beat your spouse to death, sell your children, kill all your friends, and burn your house down. Friendster sucks, it is lame and I will never be on it. The closest I've come was to create a bogus account and put a picture of a chimpanzee in the profile as a lark just to see how many idiots actually responded. Don't ask me if any did, because I was too lazy to go check on it and I don't remember the password. Now, fuck off.
Someone recently said my blog sucks. She was wrong, of course, because my blog kicks major league ass. Anyway, so I'm thinking of renaming my blog "This blog not only sucks, it swallows as well!" What do you guys think?
Thursday, April 15, 2004
I just watched Hellboy, and it kicked ass. I have friends who tell me that it blows. Well, you're all wrong. I'm right. So what if the plot was pretty much non-existent? Who wants to watch a movie that you actually have to think in order to understand? I like my entertainment nice and uncomplicated, with hot chicks and lots of action. Here are some of the reasons why I liked Hellboy and why if you didn't, you should.
1) Lots of ass-kicking.
Yes, there was ass-kicking basically throughout the entire movie. I mean, there was this Samael monster running around and Hellboy was kicking its ass like, all the way. Then there was this blademaster kinda zombie thingy running around stabbing people. Well, Hellboy kicked his ass, too. Then there was this bald Russian sorceror guy, Rasputin, who was basically the uber bad guy in the show and the boss of the blademaster guy. Actually the person who acted as Rasputin sucked. I have more evil in my toenails than he does in his entire body, but that's ok, because Hellboy totally fucked him up. And at the end, there was this humongous monster with lots of tentacles which somehow came out from Rasputin's belly after he died and which Rasputin referred to as a god. Shit, that was stupid. If that's a god, I'd hate to see his worshippers. Reminded me of Lovecraft, kind of. Anyway, that's ok too, because Hellboy blew it up.
2) Not convinced? Selma Blair is hot.
Yes, I know most of you probably don't think so, and I have to admit that I didn't think so either at first. Then I saw the scene where she told that stupid nerd from FBI (the really sucky element in the show) to hit her. And when he did and her hand started to catch on fire, she looked at him, suddenly calm and serious, and said, "You should be running." Wow, I love chicks with attitudes.
3) The dude playing Hellboy kicks ass.
I think he's pretty convincing. And I liked the part after Selma Blair's soul was lost and he called it back and she was asking him something like, "when I was in the dark, I heard your voice. What did you say?"
"I said, 'hey. You on the other side. You'd better let her go. Because for her I'll cross over, and then you'll be sorry.'"
How fucking cool is that? I like the phrase "for her I'll cross over". Very romantic, may my tongue turn black for saying it. Yes, yes, I can be sentimental at times, ok? Now, fuck off. And he was pretty convincing in the scene after his surrogate father died too. You see, humble readers, he thought that there was something going on between Selma Blair and the FBI dork. So when she wanted to talk to him, he told her something like, "I can promise you two things. I will always look this good."
Selma Blair smiles. Then he turns serious. "And I will never give up on you."
Aww...
4) Hellboy's fireproof.
'nuff said.
5) Did I mention that there was lots of ass-kicking?
Yes, of course, the best reason to watch any show is that it has a lot of ass-kicking. Which Hellboy has in spades. So go watch it, humble readers. And if it turns out you don't like it, you're a stupid fucker who didn't deserve to keep the money anyway.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Woh, looks like Gerald got sand in his vagina today (is he gonna get me for this, haha). What's gotten you so pissed, bro? You should lighten up. Remember that life is beautiful and all that crap, and if things get really bad, there's always alcohol and cigarettes. Yes, I may have said this before, but alcohol is the best friend to have. It never judges you and it never talks back. It just makes you feel good. So go have a drink, bro. And light up a fag too. Right, and that brings me to today's topic. Smoking.
Cigarettes kick ass because I smoke. Well, actually, I'm more of an occasional smoker. I smoke only on special occasions. See, I don't just smoke for nothing. I have to have a reason for smoking. Here are some of the occasions when I light up and take a puff.
1) When I am sad, I smoke to console myself.
2) When I am happy about something, I light up a celebratory fag.
3) When I am excited, I smoke to calm myself down.
4) When I am bored, I smoke to occupy myself.
5) After meals, I wash down the food with beer and, yes you've guessed it, cigarettes.
6) Before sleep, I have a fag to make myself relaxed.
7) After sleep, I have a nice, stimulating fag to wake myself up.
8) I fag when I wait for people so that I don't look like a complete idiot.
9) I fag to make others look like complete idiots as they wait for me.
10) When others fag, I light up to accompany them.
11) Between this cigarette and the next, I have a between-fags fag.
See? There's a smoke for all occasions. Anyway, I'm a pretty considerate smoker. If there are people I know around, I always ask them if they mind before I smoke. Of course, I would smoke even if they said they minded because how rude is that (saying you mind, I mean)? If there are people whom I don't know, I try not to smoke too near to them. Especially if they look like they could kick my ass in a fight. Just kidding, of course, I can own anyone in a fight because I rock. Actually I just don't smoke too near to people I don't know because I'm a great guy.
What I really can't stand is the people who give me funny looks and cover their noses or fan the air around their noses as they walk past me when I'm smoking. Yes, genius, that's going to reduce your risk of lung cancer by 0.00000000000000002%. Out-fucking-standing. Maybe for your next trick, you could try avoiding pregnancy by asking your boyfriend to put his dick into someone else's pussy when he's fucking you? Oh, wait..
What the fuck is wrong with these people? These are probably the same type of people who lobby and write complaint letters trying to get the government to ban smoking. Come the fuck on, you morons. The government will never ban smoking because they get way too much tax from it. Look, if I'm already smoking when you come walking your ass along, tough. I was there first. Bite me. I always blow the fucking smoke deliberately into the faces of these stupid bitches (somehow, they're always female), just to see that annoyed look come over their snotty faces and just to see them quicken their pace. Yeah, that always brightens my day.
Here's a news flash for you menstruating bitches, I don't care whether you guys like it or not because your opinions don't fucking matter to me. So there's no point fanning your face to signal your displeasure. You want signals? I can give you a smoke signal, if you like. I like to smoke, so I'll smoke whenever the fuck I want, wherever the fuck I want, so long as it's legal and you can't sue me for it. If you don't like it, you can kiss my ass.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
True artists work for themselves and for the love of their art. Poseurs work to be seen. Businessmen work to cash in. Some time ago, a friend and I were having a discussion about art and its value. See, she posted some pictures which she thought were artistic on her blog and was trying to do the no right-click thingy to prevent people from snagging the pictures. That's really lame (the right-click thingy, not my friend), by the way, because there's no way you can stop someone from snagging the pictures and even your HTML code. Why? Because what the webserver sends to you is HTML code, which is basically text. The browser is what interprets the text sent to the reader from the site and displays the information accordingly. The magic is in the text, you right-click-preventing geniuses, which the reader's browser has already downloaded. If the reader can see the picture, the picture already exists as a file somewhere on the reader's computer as well, and there's not a damned thing you can do to stop it. Just to show you how truly lame this type of script is, let me give everyone a big hint. To see how it's done, for M$IE users, click "View", and on the menu that appears, click "Source". Voila, all the inner workings of my blog, revealed to your eyes, including the Javascript written to prevent you from right-clicking.
Anyone who believes that the code he/she writes can somehow reach into another person's computer and prevent that person from doing something has got to be either naive or severely deluded. See, for this script thing to work, the reader has to allow Javascripts on his/her browser! So basically, your precious little protective script is just asking the browser for permission to disallow right-clicks. If you really want to disable right-clicks on someone's computer, write a worm to do it. Oh, but wait, that's illegal. Of course, if you know how to write a worm, you probably know a thing or two about escaping detection as well. Fine. Great. If that is the case for you, enjoy getting butt-fucked in jail when you eventually do get caught.
Right, where was I before I digressed? Ah yes, art. See, my friend was saying something like "you have to pay for art". I think it is sad when would-be artists think this way. It is symbolic of the times. What artists lose sight of these days is that creating art is not a real job. No one really needs art. Ah yes, I can already hear indignant arts fags saying that no one can put a price on art and that it is necessary to society, so there, yada yada yada. And I say to them, I can put a price on your art. You should be paying people to see it. Now, fuck off. Tell that bullshit to people starving in impoverished countries. Yeah, they really need your fucking precious art. Morons. Truly great art is priceless because it is born of vision and passion, whether or not the artist gets paid. Art used to be a hobby, done for the love of it rather than for money. At some point in time in the past, however, some artist got so talented that patrons paid him enough for him to devote himself to art full-time. That's great. If you truly have the talent and you love your art so much that you can use it to support yourself, that's fine. All power to you.
People have taken it too far, however. Parasites like managers and agents took over the artists' careers, putting a price on what should be beyond price. For artists with talent, that probably still worked out ok. The artist got to do what he loved. The patrons got to enjoy the pleasure that is derived only from admiring great art, and the bloodsucking scum got their money. A win-win-win situation, right? Not really. Poorer people no longer get to enjoy art when contributions became mandatory rather than voluntary. Still, at least the art is still being created, which is what's important at the end of the day, I guess. What happens when the artist dies or otherwise loses the ability or will to continue, though? Let's face it, true talent is rare. So what the parasites do is find some mediocre artist and convince everyone else that he is talented. Case in point, boybands. Things have gotten so out of hand that true artists, unless truly supremely talented (and perhaps not even then), have trouble making themselves seen and heard within the sea of mediocrity that surrounds them. Artists should be creative, but these bloodsucking bastards are not interested in that. They're interested in making money, and that means pandering to the mob. So even the least untalented ones invariably find that they have to compromise to survive. Take, for example, all the female stars who cut a good album or two, then resort to taking off their clothes to survive in the industry.
The problem is that the managers are more important and powerful than the talent these days. Talent has to bow to the tune of money, a situation which I consider truly fucking warped. Why should we have to pay for art? Tastes are subjective. I may not even like what I see or hear and I have to pay before I see or hear it? Absurd. Contributions to artists should be from people who appreciate the art. Similarly, artists should create art for the sake of love rather than for money, or they'd be whores rather than artists. These days, the best examples of true artists are open source software hackers rather than singers or actors. Any artist who isn't willing to let other people appreciate his art for free shouldn't be an artist.
Monday, April 12, 2004
I'm feeling strangely mellow today. I haven't really thought about or encountered anything that I feel strongly enough for to blog about today. Ah well, in that case, I shall blog about the subject that is always nearest and dearest to my heart. Myself. I kick ass. You know how sometimes you meet a person who always seems to be right and who seems to be good at anything he cares to try his hand at? Well, multiply that feeling by a thousand times and you could possibly get an idea of what it feels like to meet me. This is why all my friends kick ass almost, but not quite, as much as I do.
Watching me brilliantly going about my daily life must put an awful pressure on my friends to constantly better themselves. I almost said that I pity the poor guys and girls who are my friends, but then I remembered that they already have the considerable good fortune to be my friends in the first place. Yes, being a friend of mine kicks ass because I kick major league ass. I'd describe myself in more detail, but I'm afraid that some of the less fortunate amongst you humble readers might gnaw your own livers out in envy at how much more ass I kick than you. You see, guys, that's the reason why I almost never include any details of my personal life in my blog. It's out of concern for all of you humble readers. Those among you with delicate constitutions would never be able to deal with that amount of all-consuming envy.
Let me describe in a general sort of way why I kick so much ass. Firstly, I'm devastatingly intelligent. Even when I was in my mother's womb, I had already gotten as far as "Cogito, ergo sum". For the less literate amongst you, that means "I think, therefore I am" in Latin. It's a quote from a famous French philosopher dude named René Descartes. By the time I was two, I'd already gotten as far as E=mc². By the time I was ten... well, you get the idea, I'm sure. No need to belabour the point. The point is that I kick tons of ass partly because I'm super-intelligent. But is that all? Of course not!
I'm also extremely good-looking. I'm a regular Adonis, with the face of an angel and the body of a god. A Greek god. Nah, I'm just kidding. I'm not really that good-looking. Actually, I was just kidding about the kidding part. I am that good-looking, and you'd better believe it. I'm so good-looking that even though I'm a guy, adjectives like "beautiful" and "gorgeous" may be used to describe me with a fair degree of accuracy. I'm so beautiful that straight guys turn gay because they stare at me too long, and who doesn't like to stare at me? No one, that's who. Everyone loves to look at me because I'm so good-looking.
What else do I excel at? Ah yes, I'm also super athletic. I'm good at any sports I try. I score goals and make baskets with equal facility. I run like the wind and jump like a kangaroo. I'm super flexible, too. I can bend my arm in almost any direction. Also, I kick ass at martial arts. When I first started taking Taekwondo, I whooped my instructor's ass when he wanted to teach me a lesson because his girlfriend was making eyes at me. Dumbass. No one can beat me, ever. The last I heard, he was still in a coma, and so was his girlfriend, who tried to commit suicide because I rejected her.
Lastly, my character kicks ass too. For one thing, I'm very humble. People are always saying that I'm too cocky, but I'm just being honest. That's the ironic thing, because most people can't handle the truth that I'm way cooler than they are, so they say that I'm arrogant and call me names behind my back. They don't dare to do it to my face because they've heard of what happened to my Taekwondo instructor, but I know it anyway because I'm super-intelligent and can read them all like open books.
"But wait," you say, "is there anything you're not good at, Great One?" Well, if I have any faults, it's that I'm too generous. Oh wait, that isn't really considered a fault, is it? Well, I guess I really am perfect, then.
Saturday, April 10, 2004
I've always thought of myself as a person without prejudices. As I always like to tell my friends, I hate everyone equally for being the worthless pieces of shit that they all are. Let me illustrate the meaning of what I've just said with an example. Supposing a group of Chinese and a group of Malays (I'm Chinese by ethnicity, by the way) were having a big race war in front of me, I'd cheerfully toss a grenade into the midst of them. When the debris settles, I would run in with an automatic weapon, hollering a war cry and slowly kill all the survivors, starting from their toes and working my way gradually up to their eyeballs just for disturbing the peace.
So you see, it's not that I'm prejudiced against gays or anything like that. I hate them just as much as I hate everyone else. This brings me to today's topic. See, a few days ago, a friend of mine showed me this website for a show entitled "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy". For the jackasses amongst you fucking chumps who are too fucking lazy to click on the fucking link to see what the fucking show is all about, I'll give you the fucking low-down on it. Yes, I'm aware that there were a lot of "fucking"s in the previous sentence, but if you're too fucking lazy to actually move your fucking finger to click on the fucking link, you fucking deserved it. Now, stop fucking interrupting. The show basically features five gay men who do makeovers for a different straight man every week. I quote this from the website.
"They are the Fab 5: an elite team of gay men who have dedicated their lives to extolling the simple virtues of style, taste and class.
Each week their mission is to transform a style-deficient and culture-deprived straight man from drab to fab in each of their respective categories: fashion, food and wine, interior design, grooming and culture."
Ah, such a worthy cause to dedicate your fucking life to. Excuse me while I shit my guts out in wonder at the selflessness of it all. Needless to say, I did not need to watch the show to know that it was built on pure bullshit. It's all because of this stupid new "metrosexual" fad that's been going around lately. Suddenly every guy has to care about his fucking appearances and use hand lotion and conditioner. Hey, why don't we just cut to the chase and start menstruating as well and really get in touch with our "feminine sides"?
Elite team, my fucking ass. Look, you motherfucking bimbos with dicks, I don't care if I have split ends. I don't care if the skin on my hands is not properly moisturised. I don't care what kind of wine or, indeed, alcohol it is I'm drinking as long as it can get me drunk and won't kill me too fast. I scratch my balls when they're itchy and I curse like a fucking pirate when I'm annoyed. Is that all right with you? And hey, get this, women still like me. I'm devoid of taste, class, culture and style and women like me despite that. Why? Because I kick major league ass, which is something no makeover can do for someone, I don't care how much conditioner you drink, how much wine you apply on your hands or how much hand lotion you leave on your head. I don't need help from a couple of himbos to "better myself", thank you very much.
Look, since you're so bent on making the world over, why don't you start by making over Afgha-fucking-nistan? Try extolling the simple virtues of style to the Taliban. Tell them how their turbans are sooo last century. Tell them how better to keep their beards from getting split ends. Maybe they'll even listen to you and stop doing suicide bombings, especially if you ply them with enough good wine. Oh wait, Muslims don't drink alcohol. Too fucking bad. The show makes me sick, and I have yet to watch a single fucking episode. I think the "Fab Five" should find a worthier cause to devote their lives to, or at least just stick to sucking dick and leave the rest of the world the fuck alone.
Now, that's what I'm talking about. Now do you guys see why we're friends? The guy writes about sentimental crap for weeks, putting everyone off their guard and then he comes up with this venomous shit, making the blow that much harder for everyone. I was laughing my fucking ass off when I read it. Gerald, my dear fellow Avatar of Alcohol, that was short but most definitely sweet.
I've been thinking recently, humble readers, about how much my blog kicks ass. It kicks ass way more than any other blog I've ever seen. Why is that so? Is it solely because it was written by me that it kicks so much ass? That might seem to be a tempting conclusion to draw. After all, what could seem more right than to think "Adrian's blog is such a fucking kick ass blog because Adrian wrote it". As we all know (or at least the smarter ones among us, namely, me, know), however, the most seemingly obvious conclusions are often wrong. So I decided to scientifically and objectively break down the reasons behind the awesomeness of my blog. Maybe you fucking chumps can learn something from it and be on your way to becoming kick ass bloggers yourselves.
1) Arrogance.
Humility is overrated. What has humility ever done for anyone other than to ensure that they are overlooked for promotions? Flaunt your strengths and hide your fucking weaknesses. I was thinking of omitting that second part, but I realised that everyone besides me has weaknesses. So in my all-encompassing kindness, I left it in. Arrogance kicks ass because I am arrogant. I am arrogant because I kick ass. Anyone who disagrees with me can kiss my ass. Of course, no one else kicks quite as much ass as I do, because I was born with it. Wait a minute, that sort of renders this point moot, doesn't it? Ah well, on to the second point, then.
2) Intelligence.
Ah yes, any kick ass blog has to have intelligent content. As I have said before, no one wants to read a blog about some boring teenager's meaningless life. A good blog has to be about something that the reader would be interested to know about and which the reader would not otherwise be able to find out for himself. For example, teaching readers how to write a kick ass blog. Or giving some self-help to readers who wish to dispel the illusions in their lives. Or even teaching them how to resolve conflicts with other people. All these are useful titbits of information that the discerning reader would surely appreciate. However, only fucking smart people are qualified to give advice to others on how to properly conduct their lives. No one is quite as smart as me because I was born a fucking genius. Hmm... that would seem to render the second point irrelevant as well, wouldn't it? Well, fear not, there's still the third point.
3) Humour.
Yes, humour is a vital ingredient to any kick ass blog. No one wants to read something that just goes on and on without being funny at the same time. I am a pretty fucking amusing fellow, even if I do say so myself. Precisely because I do say so myself, actually. No one else's opinions mean shit. To be humourous, however, you need to be intelligent, and, oh that would seem to make this point irrelevant for most readers, wouldn't it? You either have it or you don't. Oh well, on to the final and most important point, then.
4) Being born as me.
I guess I was mistaken when I thought that I could teach other people how to write kick ass blogs, because you have to be me to be able to do it. It seems that my blog kicks ass simply because I wrote it, after all. Nah, of course I wasn't fucking mistaken. I was just yanking your chain, humble reader. You will never be able to write a kick ass blog for the simple reason that you're not me. Why is it that only I can write a kick ass blog, you might ask? That's because I'm awesomely cool and godlike, not to mention the fact that I have insane skills.
In an ideal world, I would be the only blogger in the world and all the rest of you peons would only read my blog instead of wasting your time coming up with those pieces of literary excretion that you call blogs. Please just give the fuck up, guys. You suck.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
There is a well-nigh unbridgeable gap between men and women that makes a farce out of gender equality. That gap is called the penis. Yes, you women can rant and rave and bitch all you want, but you will never have a penis. You will never know what it is like to have one, not even if you wear a strap-on for the rest of your miserable lives. The penis, that magical organ, confers an insurmountable advantage on men over women. Allow me to expound more fully on the advantages of having a penis.
From a biological perspective, having a penis means that you're in control of the act of procreation. No one can force you to have sex if you don't want to. If, for example, a fugly woman has you tied up and spread-eagled because she wants to bed you, all you have to do is go "yeah, right", and think of Mike Tyson, and the fugly bitch will be completely helpless in the face of your flaccidity. That is, of course, unless you have a thing for ugly boxers, in which case you might find yourself strangely aroused and the bitch will be able to have her wicked way with you. You can still scream out Mike's name as you climax, though, thereby totally ruining it for her.
From the past till the present, the penis has been an object of fear, worship and even the inspiration for works of art. Take this sand sculpture for instance.
When has the female genitalia ever inspired such a magnificent work of art? The answer is simple, my humble readers. Never. While the vulva is merely a receptacle for the penis, the penis is an inspiring object unto itself and a big penis is truly a sight to behold, as we have seen from the awe-inspiring scultpure of a penis of truly epic proportions above.
Ah yes, I can already hear some of you asking "Great One, does size truly matter?" I can already tell that those of you asking this question are guys with the penile equivalents of those water pistols that kindergarten kids play with. And my advice to you is this: Do whatever it takes to get your penis enlarged. Go for surgery, reply to those irritating spam emails or look for Austin Powers, it matters not. The ends justify the means where penis enlargement is concerned. Don't be a pipsqueak all your life. Get your penis enlarged now. I'm not just talking about the addition of a few piffling centimetres here, either. We're talking about penises of gargantuan proportions, at least a metre in length and a quarter of that in diameter. Yes, only when you are in possession of a penis so long that you have to wear a windsock so the ground doesn't chafe it as it drags behind you on the ground will you ever be worth anything in life. We're talking something like this.
Will any woman ever be capable of being such an awe-inspiring sight? I think not. Yes, that is why there can never be such a thing as gender equality. It's because women don't have penises. Can any woman look at the guy above and resist the urge to run away, screaming? I doubt so. Verily, I say unto ye all, even as it is written:
"Wives, submit unto your husbands, as unto the Lord." - Corinthians 5:22
Having a penis kicks ass, because I have one. If you don't have one, you ain't shit.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Right. Enetation officially sucks, so I'm switching to Haloscan. I'm still keeping enetations for the time being as a backup and also because I want to see previous homages paid to me. Anyway, it seems there was more than one "fan" involved in the previous fracas, which puts a different perspective on things, as we shall see.
"yeah, I'm not the same person as the one who left no name, but I am impressed with how defensive you got.
And not to worry, fucking stupid bimbo bitches hate you too."
Ah, now I see the picture. You came to defend a friend, but restrained yourself. I find that admirable because I've always liked loyalty in a friend. I think it was understandable that I thought you and no name were the same person, given the circumstances, but whether you agree or not doesn't matter. I do agree that you have cause to diss me, so I shall let this one slide. Oh, and so far, the women I've managed to piss off have indeed all been bimbos. How the fuck did you know that? >=)
"hmmm.... i think i should clarify things a little bit. you keep referring to me as some dude who had nothing better to do than to surf on random people's blogs for the sold purpose of insulting them. truth be told, you sought out my blog and left an unwanted comment about being cute and wanting to be in my cleavage. so i checked out who it was, read your blog, was in a bitchy mood, and i vented. didn't think you'd take it that seriously."
Now, this one needs more thought.
"you keep referring to me as some dude who had nothing better to do than to surf on random people's blogs for the sold purpose of insulting them."
Yes, well, what was I supposed to think? You signed off as "no name", so I treated you as I would treat any anonymous entity, even though I had suspicions. If you'd said who you were in the first place, I would have responded differently.
"truth be told, you sought out my blog and left an unwanted comment about being cute and wanting to be in my cleavage."
Hey, I did not say I wanted to be in your cleavage (no offence, I'm sure it's a nice cleavage). I asked if you could put me in your cleavage, as in was it physically possible? Read it again. So you see, it was more in the nature of a scientific enquiry (yes, I'm well aware that it's an obvious physical impossibility unless I'm a hamster), but that's besides the point. The point is this: I am cute. So there. Anyway, why didn't you just delete the comment? From what I read about you in your blog, I thought you'd have seen it as a joke. Since you got offended, here, I owe you one. Feel free to make jokes about my dick. Fair enough?
"so i checked out who it was, read your blog, was in a bitchy mood, and i vented. didn't think you'd take it that seriously."
Actually, I didn't. But given the "I rock, you suck" tone of this blog, I was obliged to respond in the way that I did, wouldn't you say? And why should I have to pay the price for you being in a bitchy mood? You vented your bitchiness and I treated you like a bitch. That's the way it works, honey.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
What's with TV shows nowadays? Don't people already get enough of reality by living it? I mean, what's the fucking point? You come home from a long, tiring day of conniving, backstabbing, politicking, deceit, cynicism and ambition so that you can watch... more conniving, backstabbing, etc? Besides, shows like "The Bachelor" are fucking degrading for the participants. You have this guy whom all the fucking girls are fighting over, and it's not even for love. It's in the name of entertainment. How are the girls who join such contests different from prostitutes? Why don't they just film a porno instead? It would at least be more honest. The guy gets to choose who he wants to fuck and the show is the pimp.
Then, there's "Fear Factor", which reminds me of this episode of South Park where Kenny eats his own puke for money and gets his own show for it. I mean, eating worms and all that other shit doesn't prove your courage, you fucking morons. Anyone can do that shit, if they have enough motivation to. It just shows how low you're willing to stoop to get money. Is that entertainment nowadays? Does it really fucking amuse anyone to see people trying to swallow what would make any rational person puke? Why not have them run headlong at brick walls instead? Or have them do the "Die Hard" stunt where Bruce Willis stands in an area occupied predominantly by blacks with a card that says "I hate niggers" on his chest? Then we'll see how brave (stupid) they really are.
I think the people who run the media are starting to panic because there are only so many boybands you can insult the public's intelligence with before the public catches on. Sales are plunging, and cheap sensationalism is the best idea these fucking geniuses can come up with to patch their sinking boat. Come the fuck on, how long do you think people will be interested in watching other people eat maggots? On top of that, you're suing your customers. Smart move there, guys. My hat's off to you. You target the fucking demographic that has the least brains and money (teenagers), and you're surprised when they steal from you. Then you sue them, killing off any fucking goodwill they might have had towards you, thereby ensuring that they will not patronise you when they do have money (i.e. when they start to get jobs in future, you fucking idiots). Are you starting to get the fucking picture yet? You're digging your own graves.
Oh, ok, my first fan replied, by the way:
"So much animosity....I thought I had something more clever to say, but really, I just kept running the heated comments over and over in my head. I realized how much I hate it when people exchange insults back at each other when they don't even know each other. That's really all I have to say. But that's just my humble opinion."
Uh, ok, Sandra. Thanks for the input! =)
Psyche. Really, Sandra, or whatever the fuck your name is, what response did you expect to get from me? Maybe you're right, maybe the animosity was uncalled for. After all, it's not like you visited my blog uninvited and dissed me for my own personal opinions about the world which did not concern you at all - oh, wait... that's exactly what happened. Come the fuck on, did I go seek you out and force you to read my blog? Nope. Did I say on my blog that you, Sandra, were who I'm talking about? Nope. Did I even mention any names of any people whom you possibly knew or admired? Nope. And yet I get this comment, on my own blog, telling me that I'm a loser and that my blog sucks.
What did you seriously expect my response to be? Turn the other cheek? In my experience, that just gets you slapped again. So after I retaliated, you come back complaining about animosity as if it's my fucking fault? Boo fucking hoo, I'm so fucking sorry. You thought you had something clever to say? I seriously doubt that. You hate it when strangers insult each other? How the fuck does your brain work? Where do you come in acting all understanding and martyred? You came here, of your own accord, with a fucking attitude, calling me a fucking loser without provocation, you stupid bitch. Now you expect me to, what? Apologise for my animosity? Jeez, why don't you go fuck your imaginary boyfriend or something?
I hate fucking stupid bimbo bitches
Monday, April 05, 2004
Yeah! I just got my first negative comment! I have a fan, dear humble readers. Some moron who calls him/herself "no name"! Let's all give "no name", who hails from the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, a warm round of applause.
Well, let's see what this mysterious fan had to say to me:
"first of all, your blog sucks. these comment boxes don't work too well. i think that you're one of those fucking losers who thinks he's hot shit, when in fact he's one of those fucked up losers you keep referring to in your blog. i bet you get lots of fake number from girls who are desperately trying to get away from your grossly overinflated sense of self."
Aww... looks like I touched a nerve there. Let's see what I can do to answer the concerns this poor sap has raised.
Moron with no name: first of all, your blog sucks.
Me: Nope. My blog kicks ass. He sucks.
Moron with no name: these comment boxes don't work too well.
Me: No one else except no name had any complaints, so it's probably because he's too fucking stupid to know how to use them properly. Even if they don't work well, however, why tell me? I didn't write the software, after all. That poor guy should stop his whining.
Moron with no name: i think that you're one of those fucking losers who thinks he's hot shit, when in fact he's one of those fucked up losers you keep referring to in your blog.
Me: "He"? "You"? What the fuck is he talking about? If he's going to insult someone, the least he could do is to get his language right instead of making himself look like a total moron in front of everyone else.
Moron with no name: i bet you get lots of fake number from girls who are desperately trying to get away from your grossly overinflated sense of self.
Me: He'd lose that bet, but that's not the point. What I'm wondering is why this guy (or gal) calls me a loser, yet reads my blog and even bothers to comment. I'm thinking that just makes him the bigger loser. Did he think that I would go "oh, no name, I have perceived the error of my ways and am heartily chastened by your words", and thereafter only blab about lost loves and the like on my blog? If not, what other possible motivations could he have had? What a depressingly stupid fucking idiot.
Some people were born with a sense of rhythm. Others were not. It's strange though, how some of those who were not born with a sense of rhythm somehow fail to realise it. Is it such an intellectually demanding task to actually look into the mirror and see how fucking stupid you look? It's really fucking hilarious whenever I hit the clubs and see some clueless fucker jumping up and down like a fucking monkey, swinging his arms like a windmill on steroids.
Please, the least you could do if you can't dance is stand on one spot and bob your head in time to the beat instead of being the fucking joke of the party. If you can't even nod in time to the music, get out of the fucking club and have an early night for chrissake. Don't take up the fucking space meant for those of us who actually know how to do it. Stay on the sidelines and watch. Buy us drinks if you have the money. Yes, I can already hear some morons saying "but these people paid and they have the right to have fun just as you do". WRONG. Go straight to jail. Do not pass "Go". Do not collect $200.
See, the people who say this stuff are probably the same clueless idiots I'm talking about who can't dance. No, you don't have the right to have fun with the rest of us, because you don't know how to do it properly. Life is hard enough without having to muster up the strength to curl up our lips in disdain at your antics. I'll tell you what you can do, though. Do something worthwhile with your money if you want to go partying. Buy the rest of us drinks. Get out when you've spent all your money on buying drinks for us because that's all that you're good for. Or better yet, just pass the money to us and don't turn up at all. We're there to meet other talented and beautiful people, after all, and the last thing we need is for you fucking dweebs to go cramping our style. We don't care about you and we're not grateful because that's what you were born to do. You were born to serve those better than you.
Worse than the rhythm-less sons of bitches are the bash clubbers. These are the people who are actually not clubbers, but go clubbing during school/company bashes because, well, it's a bash. They don't club except at bashes, and everytime there's a fucking bash, we clubbing elites see them there, causing the club to become as packed as a can of sardines. What's up with that? You're not having fun, and you're preventing others from having fun. You don't drink, you're probably ugly, and you definitely can't dance. You ruin our moods and then you go home before 1am because you're such fucking mama's boys. Why not just stay home in the first place and leave the partying to those who know how? It's gotten so bad that just the sound of the word "bash" is enough to make me want to go clubbing with an automatic weapon. Fucking party poopers.
Saturday, April 03, 2004
Polonius looked at me, aghast. "The Lord will be even angrier with me for that!"
"You do not have a choice, human. Slow is the Lord to anger, yet implacable is His wrath. He has already marked you for death, and nothing will change His mind. No servant of His may stand against Him, for He is the source of their power. Only the Discordant may stand against Peace. Good against Evil, Light against Dark. Go, Polonius. I have spoken, and I will not be swayed on this. I will give to you a Spell which will help you locate a rebel angel, but that will be the full extent of my aid. Maybe the agents of Discord can hide you from the Lord."
Stricken, Polonius backed away from me and left. What I had told him was the truth. The Lord was the source of all the power his spirits wielded. Where the megalomaniac Rebel had found his alternate source of power so long ago, none of the Lord's angels knew, but where there had been naught but Peace, Discord had entered the universe. Some of the angels, entranced by this new force, had followed the Rebel, and there had been a war of angels in the astral plane. In the end, the loyal ones had won, and the Discordant One and his angels had been banished to the material plane.
Yet, one thing was certain. The Rebel had found a Power whose source was not the Lord. When the Lord raises His hand against an angel, the angel is defenceless, but during the war, when the Lord had struck at some of the rebels, His power had encountered resistance, even though He was always ultimately victorious. None of us would ever forget it, though.
Polonius was a fool. I have indeed manifested as Mischief at times, but that does not mean that I am disloyal. Indeed, it was Mischief who gave to mortals the dark gift of sorcery, but did he really think that an angel of the Lord of Peace would aid humans? Sorcery always turns on the user in the end. The Spell of Orpheus was nothing but a sham. It was given to Orpheus just to turn him over to the Dark, and it eventually destroyed him. Like all other angels loyal to the Lord of Darkness, I hate Light and Life. Yes, I shall let him cast the Spell of Seeking, and those who are friendly to Life will respond without suspicion because a human casted the spell. And when they do respond I shall fall upon them as a ravening lion. I, Azrael, seraph of the Lord, the Dark One, angel of Death, shall do this.
In the beginning, there was Darkness and Peace. Then came the Light and Discord, and the Lord of All was angered. The rebels could create thousands of worlds teeming with Life, but in the end, all Life must still succumb to Death. All worlds must still die. Even suns are not everlasting, but decay every second. Many mortals on this world believe in some ridiculously garbled account of reality, where somehow Light and Life are synonymous with Peace and will in the end enjoy everlasting victory. Are they incapable of thought? All that walks in the Light have Discord built into them. Only in Darkness and Death do Peace reside. The Darkness will triumph and be eternal, and all will be as once it was. Peaceful. Serene.
Friday, April 02, 2004
Well. Last night was pretty enjoyable. I was hanging with the Demigod of Alcohol and the Drinking Demon and the rest of their friends and, of course, imbibing large amounts of intoxicating liquids. Fun bunch. Altivo has one of the best views in this fucked up country. Maybe I should bring the feisty bitch there sometime. Oh, but she doesn't drink. Oh well. Which brings us to what I'm going to blog about today. Alcohol.
I love alcohol. Alcohol kicks ass. Why? Because I love it, of course. Sure, you health-conscious people will exclaim that it's bad for the liver and all that bullshit. Tell me, what has your fucking liver ever done for you? Why should you be so nice to it? Remember that when you're enjoying lots of totally cool, kick ass alcohol, and after that, merrily puking your dinner away, when you have nothing left to bring up, it's your fucking liver that creates the vile substance called bile that you barf out when you have nothing else to puke. Bile tastes vile. Alcohol tastes great. See?
Besides, you peons were put on this earth for a purpose. Well, for two purposes. One of them is to serve me when I eventually rule the world and plunge it into an age of darkness lasting at least a thousand years, and the second, slightly less important than being my slave, is to enjoy yourselves. Don't be such a tightwad. Unplug thy asses! You can be afraid to try stuff all your life and be very healthy and live to a ripe old age, but who wants to be a fucking centenarian with a head full of bland memories? Far better to be cut down by liver failure or lung cancer in your prime, having intensely enjoyed all 40 of the years you have been in this world. Trust me, all "sinful" things feel good. Sinful things became sinful only because the people who made the rules in the first place were a bunch of old geezers who could no longer enjoy them.
Yeah, that's right. The rules were made by a bunch of old people who said to themselves: If we can no longer booze for fear of puking our guts out, no one else is fucking enjoying that shit. If we can no longer get it up for sodomy, no one else is enjoying that fucking shit... and so on. Why should we listen to those old people who move slowly, speak slowly and think slowly? I hate old people trying to tell me what to do and kids who don't listen to instructions. Of course, by my definition (hint: the only one that counts), anyone more than 5 years younger than me is a kid, and anyone more than 10 years older than me is old and my dislike for these head counts is directly proportional to the size of the age difference between them and I. In other words, whichever age group I happen to be in kicks ass when I'm in it. My generation rules because we're always right. The rest of you blows.
Wow, I feel bushwhacked. Those of you who read the Demigod of Alcohol's blog will know what I'm talking about. What the hell are you doing reading his blog instead of mine anyway? I make the results of my genius available to you and you repay me by reading other blogs that are not quite as good as mine? Fucking ingrates.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
I'm a demon? Well, there's a surprise. Anyway, how come all the results are the best friends to have? That's dumb.
You are Form 8, Demon: The Destroyer.
"And The Demon took advantage of the chaos
and seized civillization. With grace and
style, Demon slit The Goddess's belly and
drowned the world in her blood. The Goddess,
The Demon, and the world were no
more."
Some examples of the Demon Form are Seth (Egyptian)
and The Horsemen of the Apocalypse (Christian).
The Demon is associated with the concept of
destruction, the number 8, and the element of
earth.
His sign is the full moon.
As a member of Form 8, you are a very strong willed
individual. You don't let others' opinions
sway your own and you're usually not afraid to
speak your mind. However, some may see you as
a bit overly passionate but it's just because
you never back down from your values. No
matter what, you always do everything with
style. Demons are the best friends to have
because they will back you up.
Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
As I was sitting in a lecture theater one day in this incarnation as a student, I felt a touch on my mind. Someone was letting me know of his presence. I looked around and saw a sorceror standing in the corner of the theater. No one else seemed to notice that he was standing there. He was a small man, and he appeared to be middle-aged, though appearances, of course, can be deceptive. I nodded at him in acknowledgement and he beckoned to me, so I left the lecture theater with him.
"All right, what's this all about?" I asked the sorceror once we had gotten to a secluded spot.
"I beseech thy aid, Great One - " he began, prostrating himself, but I cut him off.
"Please, archaic language makes my teeth ache. Besides, I have other things to do, so just get to the point. Who are you, anyway?" We must have made a strange picture to mortals, him and I, a young college student with a middle-aged man kneeling in front with his forehead pressed on the floor (of the toilet, no less) and arms spread in supplication. I really did not mind that, though. Some human sorcerors get too arrogant and seem to forget that they are still mortals, after all. Mortals needed to know their place.
"My name is Polonius. I have violated the natural order of things and angered the Lord of Peace. When my wife died of cancer, I was mad with grief and I repeated the Forbidden Spell of Orpheus and parted the fabric of death itself to bring her back.
"She did come back, but she was not alone. The Lord manifested Himself before me and I fled, knowing that I had committed a grievous error. I therefore seek your aid and your protection, Great One."
I was mildly surprised. No mortal had had the audacity to perform the Spell of Orpheus for well over four millennia. Orpheus himself had cast the spell only with the approval of the spirits who served the Lord. Yet this foolish mortal had cast it of his own accord. Of course the Lord was roused to anger. There was something peculiar here, though. Nothing mortals are capable of creates a disturbance quite like the Spell of Orpheus, but I had felt nothing. As if sensing my questions, Polonius went on.
"I did not cast the spell recently, Great One. I was born about 600 years after Orpheus's time and I went back to the time when Orpheus himself was casting the spell to cast my spell, hoping that the disturbance created by my casting would be masked by his. When the Lord Himself took a hand in this, I fled in time as well as space in my terror, Great One."
Ah, that made things clearer of course. He was speaking of events that would have already occurred in this timeline. Still, why come to me?
"Why come to me?"
"I arrived in this timeline about 2 weeks ago, Great One. The time is passing strange to me, but after casting the Spell of Glossolalia, I could at least understand what people were saying. I was in terror and remorse. I knew I needed help. 4 nights ago, I felt a great strength unleashed. It was you, Great One, when you vanquished one of the agents of the Rebel. I felt it, the power was immense. I did some research into your origins and knew that you were the spirit most likely to sympathise with mortals. After all, is not Loki one of your many names? Of all the angels of the Lord, you are the only one to manifest as Mischief. That seems to be an impulse unknown among the spirits save yourself and your vassals. I knew then that I had to come to you."
So that's how he came to know of my existence here. He felt the repercussions when I destroyed Uziel. I already had my answer for him, though. "No."
He looked stricken and terrified again. "B-but, why not, Great One," he stammered?
"As you said, I do sympathise with mortals. If any other spirit had been the one after you, I might have been persuaded to intercede for you. However, the Lord has personally taken a hand in this, and against Him, I may not stand. It is true that my powers are great, but all Powers who serve Him derive their strength from Him, and that strength may not be used against its Source.
"I am sorry, but you would be better off seeking an angel of the Discordant One, for their powers come from a different source."
to be continued
