Exit Theory

It is done

2005-03-30T23:33:00.000-06:00

We've officially moved to http://exittheory.blogdrive.com.

All contributors are there, and all regular updates will be on that site. Hop on over and check us out. I like the new site design a lot. Anywho, have a good evening, gang.

I wouldn't expect much as far updates here go. I'll keep it open for a while, but probably nothing will come up over here. So what are you waiting for?

http://exittheory.blogdrive.com
http://exittheory.blogdrive.com
http://exittheory.blogdrive.com
http://exittheory.blogdrive.com
http://exittheory.blogdrive.com
http://exittheory.blogdrive.com

Change is good.

Uh...

2005-03-30T09:48:00.000-06:00

The archive move went alright. It's a long fucking process, because I had about a thousand more entries than everybody else. The whole "move to a different site" thing has been the reason we've been updating so limited this week, and I wouldn't expect that to continue much past thursday. Burky's archives are moved, mine are moved, now we just need to invite mike/nique over and we can just continue over there.

I like the new site, by the way. It's not nearly as shitty as blogger.com, and it's completely html, allowing people like Burky and mike to customize at their own whim. So yeah, I made Burky art director for the new site and let him go nuts, and we've got a bitching looking place, if you ask me. Starting probably monday, all full, new updates will be found at the new site, and the fate of this place is still up in the air. Will I close it? Keep it open? I don't know. We might need a forum for the posters. Maybe I'll just close it to the public, and we'll keep it for ourselves. Anyway, I'm off. And oh yeah, our new home is

http://exittheory.blogdrive.com/

Almost exactly the same, but blogdrive, not blogspot. Catch you later!

2005-03-29T20:44:00.000-06:00

We're moving/redesigning a new Exit Theory. Blogger fucking blows; it barely lets me into the fucking updater. Anywho, I'll keep you posted. Right now, we're working on moving the archives over. The design is pretty well set up. I'll be contacting mike and nique in the next few days to let them know what's going on.

Stay tuned...?

Strange and Screwy Lifeless Lovers

2005-03-29T17:06:00.001-06:00

My grandmother and mother have been on a trip, they were visiting some of my grandmother’s old friends. on the way there they got the news that my great aunt died and they decided that after the Montana trip was over then they would shoot strait through to Ohio and the funeral. I am left with another week of solitude. the time I have gained has to be used to gain employment. I have been collecting applications but not filling them out. I hate it, and the job I want is already taken, this is shity! I should move back down to the cities, but then that means that I have to really get my shit together hold down a real job and do the comic book all in record time. if I could just get into contact with that awesome rich awesome kid then it would all be kosher but Fuck I can‘t and I need money for paper and ink and a new brush or two, I could raise that money if I could just find a shity job. I am just not up for that. If I just knew wither or not I will get into that dumb college I won’t be able to pay for any fucking way... this is shit... I am going to.... I don’t know what to do. any suggestions?
tell me what to do. I can’t think for myself anymore I’m all burned out.

good news however, I did wander into Tyler Huss's house and ate his food and stole his stuff.
there is good in everything.

Strange and Screwy Lifeless Lovers

2005-03-29T17:06:00.000-06:00

Not on my time, dyke!

2005-03-29T09:09:00.000-06:00

I wish i could remember my dream. Usually I can, I have a method. I'm not telling you what it is. If everyone knew, then everyone would be super...meaning no one would be super. I will remain the supreme being, thank you. I have lost my dream this morning. Unlike previous dreams where I dance with Nicole Richie in my grandma's front yard, or avert death by beating high school kids up while being naked, this dream was an invaluable piece of knowledge. My dream was a movie. A movie i should have made. A plot I should have got up and wrote down immediately. In my way this morning, was the fact that I had to go to work, pounding in my head like Ron Jeremy pounding some slut's cunt. Through the morning ritual of making myself beautiful, the wonderful story of action and betrayal, and a new-found love slowly drifted from my memory. Arriving at work to find that there is nothing to do, except for write this entry only made me dislike the situation even more. Now, my good friends, all I am left with is a fraction of the dream. My chance at creating a film...a REAL film. All I can remember now is a fat girl that poisoned my drink after I didn't take the bounty on her head. Thanks a lot, world.

Anyway, I only work half a day today, which gives me more time to beat Capcom vs SNK 2 on level 8 difficulty again. What a glorious feeling it is, to beat a game on 8 stars. Hopefully I will receive Street Fighter Alpha 3 in the mail today, so I can begin my intense training to obtain Dramatic Battle. I would really like to be good with someone other than Ken and Ryu. I think I will begin my Karen lessons when I receive the game. I highly recommend getting the SFA3 strategy guide if you want to learn everything about every character's past. 5 bones on ebay, y'all.

If you have noticed my lack of random swearing and nonsense, it is because it is now 9 am. Yes, 9 AM. I have only had one cup of coffee and one can of Wild Cherry Pepsi (Great New Taste! - Contains No Juice) Usually I'm totally down for being up this early, but I am still reaping the consequences of snowboarding an entire weekend away. Sore like MaGore. Get your fat ass up and roll me a coffee blunt. What the hell does that mean? I don't even really do that! I inject coffee into my veins. SHIT you! eat it, blow me, get bent, not on my time you dyke, cram ass, eat shit and die. Ok, it seems I am slowly waking up.

Burky: About how many boxes of Wheat Thins do you guys go through in a week?

Adam: With Mike in the band, probably about 8, in a minute.

Fucking priceless writing, boys. Priceless.

4-Wheelin' MaGreeling OR I'm not on drugs, seriously.

2005-03-28T16:01:00.000-06:00

What the hell happened to Darkwing Duck? That show was frikin' AWESOME DAWSON.

Boy, things are quite strange around these parts. Speaking of the internet of course, and more specifically, the Exit theory location. Things are changing? WHAT?

Last Friday brought me good luck. I went to work at 6am, and was done at 8am. After a 4 hour drive, well i didnt drive actually. More like i sat in the back playing Street fighter. My accompliss Ryan and I went on a Grand Journey to Lutsen in our Caravan of Fury, (Literally a Dodge Caravan) for a weekend of Snowboarding up the the mountains, and hijinx to no end. While the snowboarding part happened, and dont get me wrong, it was ABSOLUTELY THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE, i was saddened by the fact that we didnt break anything, or get in enormous trouble...which usually happens when we all get together for a weekend like this. but nothing really happened.

Aside from the most hardcore fooseball match this side of Manchester, yeah we're talkin the fooseball flying across the room and into a hot tub more than once. The battle royale took place at the pool. My cousin...we will call him...Xaylor X, to protect his identity, insisted on splashing water at Ryan and I while we were enjoying the dry life. After insisting that Xaylor X stop this nonsense immediately, I proceded to locate the nearest projectile I could find. It happened to be an almost...ALMOST empty shampoo bottle, and i hurled that bitch full speed at his face. Xaylor X dodged easily and threw it back at me. I caught it as Ryan filled me in one a terribly good idea. I quickly ran over to the hot tub and filled it with water. Upon returning, I freakin bitch blasted that mother right at him. Now im not sure if it hit him, but i like to think that it did. Right in the face if anything. This Xaylor X retaliated in hurling at at me, but my Guilty Gear skills came into effect as I easily dodged the bullet and it hit the wall, exploding the cap into tiny pieces...that hopefully people will accidentaly step on. I picked it up again, and without hesitation, returned the favor...with the cap off.....causing a bottle full of somewhat diluted shapoo to fill the top of the pool. Yeah, we checked for cameras, and got the mother out of there...but not before I threw Xaylor X's socks in the hot tub. Last but not least, Real Searchin' just didnt happen, due to an excessive amount of snowboarding and soreness. Just another weekend with my family.

Remember 10hit Combo? yeah that was cool. I currently own Ultimate Rugal's ass.

Another thing I would like to assess is the current thing that has been ripping my mind back and forth all day. SHOULD I BUY A PSP ON FRIDAY? Pro's : i would fucking be totally sweet as fuck, and thats about it. Con's : $250 bucks, library of games doesnt make me orgasm at any moment. What do you think? let me know...cause either way, ill probably buy one on friday.

Is it me, or is this the most...normal....any of my posts has ever been? I think im out of drugs, Howie Mandel hasnt stopped by in like 3 days. Fuck him anyway...

from this pitiful library.

2005-03-28T14:58:00.000-06:00

Every one is gone again, and I am ready to real get moving.
just need some cash just need a job. Damn me, I don't want a job.
it is possible that if I got a job I might be able to afford coledge, but I have a hard time beliving that. I some how doubt that a minimum wage job will bee enough to put me through a semester of school. even if every cent went to funding school.

I'm tired, been biking.

afraid of my mom.

I don't like it because it's stupid...

2005-03-27T23:55:00.000-06:00

...but I use it anyway. I don't know if anybody besides me is going to be interested in this, but for those unaware, the Flesch-Kincaid readability test is the industry standard when it comes to determining how readable the shit you write is. I play around with this thing like it's going out of style, but some interesting numbers when I put the Exit Theory in there.

For the month of February, a total of 9,841 words were written. We had a Gunning-Fog Index of 8.30, meaning it would take that many years of schooling to completely understand all the shit we say; a Flesch Reading Ease rating of 75.70, meaning that percentage of the public will be able to undertand what the hell is going on; and a Flesch-Kincaid Grade of 5.26, meaning people in that grade will understand this.

These are good numbers, as we've been winging it from here. I'll keep you updated. I know the post "Railroad Jerk" ranks up in the high 80s in Flesch Reading Ease, which is good news for me.

Railroad Jerk

2005-03-27T23:10:00.000-06:00

Where once our numbers grew without boundaries, they seem now to be dwindling. Peter has made it known that he probably will not continue to post in any regular fashion, and that I "should just take [him] off." This will happen later on this week, when I can be bothered with it. While I'm sad to see to him go, he won't be the last. My "one post a day" rule has been broken about as badly as you can break an arbitrary piece-of-shit rule. Hell, I don't even follow that anymore. Or at least, I haven't been. Time to get back to my roots.

The "one post a day" rule is gone. Stricken from the record, as it were. In its place shall arise a glorious city, founded on syllables, built higher with clauses, topped with golden spires of ideas. Basically, the Exit Theory belongs to me again. I shall keep the door open for the other contributors. For a time, anyway. This meltdown was foretold in texts long since forgotten. In other words, I kind of expected the Silver Age to pass.

You can kind of gauge the progress of the Exit Theory in certain ages. In the Bronze Age, an aspiring writer struck out on his to document the things he felt important. In the Silver Age, four brave adventurers joined him in his quest to fashion ideas and tales the world hadn't known. We enter now into a transitional phase. The long talked about site redesign will happen, even if it means I do it myself. And let's be honest, I don't know what I'm doing half of the fucking time. I just sort of close my eyes, pound a few keys, and hope for the best. That will happen. So, the logical progression then is into the Golden Age. I hesitate to use that term. It might be the shittiest it will ever be in the coming weeks and months. We may see the Age of Shit, for all I know.

But I don't know. And that's all that makes it okay, sometimes.

I'm in the process of shifting projects around. My timetable has been... how do you say? Ah yes, fucked in the ass. The projects that had seen attention previously have been replaced with newer, different projects. It helps keep the work fresh. Also, things have tended to evolve, like most things do. Comics have turned to film, prose to poetry. Quite frankly, it's hard to keep up with the constant changes around here. I like that.

Home (or a suitable synonym thereof) for the weekend. Back in Minneapolis, staring meekly out the window, waiting (not so) patiently for school to end and life to begin. There's so much shit I want to do, and this fucking school keeps getting in my way! What is that? I've never been more stifled creatively. Liberal arts my ass.

Because some of you (well, just one really. But a very cute, albeit tiny one) have complained about a lack of updates around here (and elsewhere, as I have been known to spend certain amounts of time), I will work tirelessly to update both here and abroad at the other journals. I figure it's the least I can do for you. You are, after all, very cute. And very short. And in New York. And my best friend.

Fucking forget it! I'm going to bed. Say your goodbyes to those leaving us. Bye, Peter! You will be missed.

that's not contagious, is it?...

Watch me Jumpstart, part II

2005-03-24T20:56:00.000-06:00

You're in England, eh? You're trying to lord that over me, eh? You know, they have bad teeth in England. I think the joke is on you. I think that very much. Besides, Minnesota's been a neat little 40 degree cutie lately. What more can I ask for? Oh yeah, that's right. A life.

Burky T, that man among men, has concocted yet another film that I'm excited to see. I believe, and I may be wrong here, that the title is Real Searchin'. If it's anything like I imagine, it's gonna rule.

Yeah, I'm gonna go, because I have a lot to work to get done before tomorrow. Peter may or may not continue to join us. We'll have to see. Anywho, peace to tha grease.

Today, is like yesterday in some ways...

2005-03-23T16:58:00.000-06:00

...and I don’t mean that in a philosophical way. I have effectively done a lot more work on my book, today I have undone the shity things I did yesterday and polished the book into a far more tangible thing than it was yesterday. It’s been a struggle to say the least, it hurt me deeply to cut the pages I had already planned out. I did what I had to do, but other than that I haven’t done much, yesterday at least I went out for a walk and pretended to be looking for work, but today I just can’t bring myself to go out. I think if it wasn’t for my addiction to singing along to mason Jennings my mouth would close up like a wound, bad thing, good thing? I don’t know, still feeling productive but melancholy, maybe it’s just the over cast sky and relatively colder weather, probably about the difference of four degrees.
unless I intend to do this thing in Bic pen I am going to have to go get a job. ah the ever present danger of employment. hey Nique if your reading this you should send me some information on telemarketing. such as, do I have to sell shit to make money? cause I don’t know how I would feel about that, but the idea of not leaving the house is nice...
I’m going to stop righting now, I think I’m sick.
I think I’m going to stop posting regularly, either that or start to get inventive with it, cause this shit is going to get real old real fast.

Uh....

2005-03-22T23:15:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the MASSIVE quad-post. I blame my own eyes being METH PIPES.

hey, i think he likes it!...

Escalation freeds escalation

2005-03-22T23:10:00.000-06:00

My constant state of exhaustion seems to be indicative of larger, more frightening problem: my illness, which you well remember, is not gone. Feeling normal (beside the tiredness), I assumed that my violent soul-sucking cold/flu had left my body. Little did I know it was laying dormant, striking when I least expected it. At least I'm caught up on work. Well, relatively speaking, of course.

Here's something needs commentary: Yahoo! News, is hosting a story that says, in plainest terms, that "LEET" speak or "1337" speak is doing more good than harm to the English language. Yeah, I know. I know! What the fuck is that?

Is he insane?

Regardless of whether or not "lol" or "stfu" are going to replace actually laughing or telling someone to shut the fuck up, he's inviting every English speaking person in the world to talk like a fucking moron with reckless abandon. A fan of regular, smart English, I cannot be anything but utterly terrified at this development. The horror! Shrink in terror at the imaginable possibilities!

"Hey, Robbie. You want to go get a fat fucking steak?"
"STFU, n00b. lololololol!!!11!!1!"

It is coming; the end of days.

Actually, I'm not going to lie here, this is fucking awesome for me. Fucking awesome. This proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am fucking better than 90% of the people currently existing. Speaking proper English is fairly easy and natural for me. It's them, they are the morlocks. I will not be dragged down into their rabble!

Yeah, yeah, I'm elitist. I like it that way.

We might see branches forming off of the main Exit Theory "web log," or whatever the term may be. The much spoken of yet slightly non-existant 10-Hit Combo may be resurrected in a form not so different from this. It's an idea that's been tossed about. Expect no real results for quite some time.

Switching gears.

Today was a bright and beautiful day, and I had to fucking get out there and devour it whole. I put my feet in my shoes and shot out the door like a fat wind. The city is nice when the weather lets you wander away from the warmth of home.

Nothing else, except this purely unedited conversation between Fightin' Mad and myself. You should be able to guess who is who. Enjoy.

I eat burrito. says: (12:30:37 PM)
only thing on my mind is eatin a fat fuckin wet one

I eat burrito. says: (12:30:46 PM)
a sub

DM2 says: (12:30:50 PM)
hahahaha, you must go to BAJA SOL

I eat burrito. says: (12:30:56 PM)
hahahaha

I eat burrito. says: (12:31:02 PM)
its been closed for months now

DM2 says: (12:31:10 PM)
THANK FUCKING GOD

I eat burrito. says: (12:31:23 PM)
hahaha baxter baja was the Fing WORST

I eat burrito. says: (12:32:11 PM)
oh shit, we went to taco bell and saw fat fucker melissa dude. so sick

DM2 says: (12:32:57 PM)
Oh god, i bet she was scooping the fucking sour cream into her ass, shitting it onto a mirror, then eating it, the fat fucking FUCK FATTY

I eat burrito. says: (12:33:17 PM)
HAHAHAHA FUCKING A LOL

I eat burrito. says: (12:33:31 PM)
DUDE I TOTALLY FUCKING PICTURED THAT YOU ASS

I eat burrito. says: (12:33:45 PM)
with her shitty fucking sour cream all over her face

I eat burrito. says: (12:33:47 PM)
FUCK

DM2 says: (12:34:10 PM)
HAHAHAHAHAHHA dude, i'm so fucking sorry

DM2 says: (12:34:12 PM)
Shit

DM2 says: (12:34:13 PM)
GROSS

I eat burrito. says: (12:34:23 PM)
HAHAHA I LOVED IT

DM2 says: (12:34:40 PM)
You know she did it

DM2 says: (12:34:42 PM)
Fucking a

DM2 says: (12:34:43 PM)
GROSS

I eat burrito. says: (12:35:08 PM)
i wouldnt doubt it. with nick and melanie there to spot her in case she passes out from standing up

I eat burrito. says: (12:35:22 PM)
for too long

DM2 says: (12:35:24 PM)
HAHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHH

DM2 says: (12:35:30 PM)
passes out from standing up

DM2 says: (12:35:35 PM)
shit, that's fucking funny

I eat burrito. says: (12:36:02 PM)
god dude she had kids man, someone had fucking SEX with her

DM2 says: (12:36:51 PM)
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

DM2 says: (12:37:35 PM)
You have no idea how much alcohol we'd have to drink to fucking have sex with her. I'd have to be mainlining BLACK TAR HEROINE to fuckign be fucked up enough to fucking fuck her fat fucking KOOTCH

I eat burrito. says: (12:38:00 PM)
HAHAHAHAHA HA OH MAN

I eat burrito. says: (12:40:17 PM)
FUCKING EAT DRUGS FOR A WEEK AND SIT ON A FUCKING DILDO MADE OF COCAINE. HAVE AN IV HOOKED UP TO VOKDA AND HAVE MY EYEBALLS GOUGED OUT AND REPLACED WITH FUCKING METH PIPES

DM2 says: (12:40:33 PM)
HAHAHHAHHAHHAHA FUCKING HAHAHAHAHHAHAH SHIT

DM2 says: (12:40:36 PM)
OH MY GOD

DM2 says: (12:40:44 PM)
FUCKING FUNNIEST MENTAL PICTURE EVER

DM2 says: (12:40:47 PM)
holy chirst

DM2 says: (12:40:52 PM)
my body hurts from laughing

I eat burrito. says: (12:41:29 PM)
hahahahahah dude this sucks, im fucking purple trying not to bust out loud here

DM2 says: (12:41:49 PM)
I know dude, fuck, this is easily one of the funniest coversations ever

I eat burrito. says: (12:42:17 PM)
hahahahaha i need to make another story out of this

DM2 says: (12:42:58 PM)
Shit yeah, dude. I fucking love the mental picture of Mecha Drugged Out Burky. The more I think about it, the more I realized you described floyd fucking JARES

I eat burrito. says: (12:43:16 PM)
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA dude thats what he should look like on crempker

DM2 says: (12:43:32 PM)
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHHHAHAHAH you fucking did it dude

DM2 says: (12:43:38 PM)
I don't know how you did it, but you did it

I eat burrito. says: (12:44:57 PM)
hahahahah i need to save this shit

I really talk like that. I'm not nearly as well-spoken as I make myself out to be.

hey, i think he likes it!...

An old, new way of life.

2005-03-22T17:15:00.000-06:00

I have seen nor talked to anyone today, I have been enjoying seclusion the way I remembered it. It seems like it has been so long since I spent a day alone to myself, and thank my lucky stars there will be a full week of such solitude. I’m getting all tingly!
the closest thing to human contact I have experienced today was a strange girl I either don’t know, don’t remember, or did know, but they drastically changed there appearance. I smiled politely at them and that was that. I am finally free (once again) from the self inflicted obligation of crushing on someone. I don’t even feel lonesome. I had though for the past two years that I was hopelessly dependent on company of some kind all the time, but no, here I sit feeling incredibly content, at peace.
I have been working on shit believe it or not, I have done extensive studies for the first section of my book, and will be ready to draw it as soon as I get a hold of some cash for art supplies. Ah ha and here is the new beginning to the cycle of self destruction! to get enough cash moneys to start this thing I need to get a job, which will put me back into contact with people, which will drop my productivity back down to a ridiculous level, a stupid level, a level I hate. which is why I have decided to start my inevitable career of armed robbery immediately.
It is (thank God) the only option.
Hey I’m getting better at posting regularly too!
I love my life.

Boo-hoo....my life....KILL YOU

2005-03-22T10:12:00.000-06:00

HAVE A FREAKING LAUGH PEOPLE. SERIOUSLY. moo-moo...my life...shall I be forever in the darkness? People don't laugh anymore. Such an easy medication to problems. School...work...BITE ME. Grab your shoulders and pull your damn head out of your fat ass. Life isn't that bad. Run away. Run away to Canada. Eat a burrito in Canada. Then come back, and have a burrito with me. I will order two. Don't forget the drink. Then I will go to Canada. I will get very drunk. I will have very friends. They like me. We throw up. Goodbye friends. Now I am back now. Eating burrito. byebye burrito. I am dead.

What? What happened? I must have blacked out. Anyway...what the hell was that? Why do people want to be such social outcasts. Yes, you...sitting in the hallway, pretending like you are insane. I saw you. You looked at me. We like it. Dancing. When we dance I like. Green tea coming. We drink. Fly away now.

DAMMIT. ok...I need medicine. Ebay medicine. I have now spent every penny and then some of the 75 bucks I made selling stuff...on even MORE stuff on ebay. All in all, it will be fun to play the many games I've purchased. Somebody is trying to sell a Macgyver survival kit on Ebay. This miraculous kit includes a paper clip, pen cap, and other random items. I NEED this. Better yet, I SHOULD HAVE INVENTED THIS. eh, oh well, I'll just sell my forehead as advertising space. WHAT? someone did that too? You know...I just realized...this little thing I am doing here...this Ebay bit, it's really not all that funny. Don't worry if you didn't laugh. I didn't either.

Soon I'll post a page with some of my work. Characters..blah blah, all that kind of stuff the kids are into. Give a man a fish, and he will have a fish in one day er he likes fish. shit. Howie Mandel is here, gotta go.

random

2005-03-22T00:09:00.000-06:00

Don't ever ask me where I'm from. I really don't even know anymore nor do I really care.

Who knew that a week could change so much? I didn't but thats normal concidering I'm usually out of the loop on such things.

These can't be concidered paragraphs, but thats okay because my writing skills are no longer necessary... I'm going to school for photography.

My eyes keep growing bigger.

Fuck friends. I need you guys.

I feel worthless since I've spent most of my time watching movies and The OC. Is that bad?

I miss him no matter what. Not the new him, the old him.

Change is inevitable.

The sun was shining today and I was happy. Is it right for the weather to determine my mood? I don't know if it is or not, but I'm quite alright with that.

cant sleep anymore.

The Vanilla Sky

2005-03-21T22:52:00.000-06:00

Tommy Vasecka had a birthday recently. Happy birthday, Tommy! Sorry I missed it, pal. I tend to do those things.

Really tired lately. Unnecessarily woke up around 7:30 a.m. today and avoided pronouns for most of the day. Proud of that fact.

That's like three sentences of fragments. Or three fragmental sentences. Or whatever it can be called. I'm going to forego the whole pronoun rule I created for no real reason. Although, I did pretty good until I said "it" a few sentences ago.

Can we stop talking about fucking grammar rules please?

Using the iPod, my $340 dollar piece of consumer electronics, was as good as I had hoped. You poor pieces of shit! If only you could afford one. You can't. I can. Eat it. Breakdancing, a side-effect of owning an iPod, was conspicuously absent. My feelings on that are strange and varied. I will not indulge you.

Epiphanies ahoy! Being a journalism student--nay, a journalism professional--is one of the worst ideas in recent memory. A panel of other professionals in the field (from the Pioneer Press, the Star Tribune, and WCCO Minneapolis) were kind enough to make themselves available to us today as a resource regarding jobs, diversity, and other journalism-related topics. A recurring theme? Being a journalism major will make you poor as hell unless you actually work for something like the New York Times.

This is disheartening. One, I don't want to get a real job. That is just fucking stupid. Getting a real job is like dying: everyone thinks they have to do it, but they really don't. Wake up, you sods! Death, like getting a real job, is a mug's game. Two, I never really planned on working at a huge freaking paper anyway. I wanted to work in some crazy laid back magazine. Like News Radio, but without Andy Dick and with print journalism.

So, this leaves me with precious few ideas as to what to do. Money isn't something I really care about, but I do want to be able to support myself and, should worst come to worst, a family. Supporting more than one person on $14,500 a year is damn near impossible. Rent in this city alone would fucking kill me! I'd get botulism from all the Ramen I'd eat. What then, will I do?

The answer to that question is simple: I'm going to finish out college and get a journalism degree. Enough to get a fucking job that gives me money. And whenver I'm not working at the magazine, I'm hunched over a keyboard/notebook, toiling away to create the next great work of fiction/comic art. My lifestyle makes needing money a necessity, and writing comics is much more lucrative than being a professional journalist starting out. Good thing I have all these ideas then. Creativity flows forth, like a bubbler! A blubbler, I say!

Even today, I was inspired by recent events. As I mentioned earlier, Peter Hoffert and I recently attended a showing of the film Constantine, and that has provided me with a really funny idea for a pseudo-religious comic. We're not talking Edward Christ or my play (currently being co-written with Capt. Mike of the Thole tribe), but a different view on it.

Everyone on this new idea was planned out today at the panel discussion, but I'm having problems formulating the penultimate chapter, titled Acts. The other five chapters, Genesis, Exodus, Judges, The Gospels, and Revelation are already being prepped for scripting outlines. This idea has taken a mind of its own. However, it might work even better on screen, so I may be in talks with folks like Christopher Olsen and StrangeFace about co-writing/art direction. Cinematography is one of my good skills, but these guys have the gift. I will leave it in their hands, if it comes to that.

hey, i think he likes it!...

Feelin' Lame

2005-03-20T18:04:00.001-06:00

this week has been a great journey of self enlightenment.
I have realised that I am indead a lame ass. I spent the entire week doing nothing of worth, and dogeing responsiblity, in one way or another, and I feel like doing even less, from here on out. Of coarse I will push myself on, triumph over my shortcomings, I will yet come out on top. but I am not going to re desighn the blog. so there (i'm sorry).

I intend to post more compleat posts eventualy

Machinations of Id

2005-03-18T16:49:00.000-06:00

There's a feeling coursing through my body, unabated by the legion drugs I have taken in order to suppress its might. I am getting ill. This is no normal three-day cold, oh no, that would be just too easy. What is going on inside my body is a full-scale attack, done in retribution for past transgressions. Some foul sorceror is wreaking havok on my liver, and it is to you I say "Knock it off!"

Please, take my advice and knock it off. The only moment the past couple of days that I've felt great has been when I'm sleeping, where feeling and existing aren't the same thing. My head is swimming through a sea of colored glass.

The only real entertainment around these parts is watching the sun fade from sight. You know, you know that when the sun goes down, we come up. There has been a long string of battles, some less important than others, and I must say that the score remains tied. As an act of divine intervention (although, I do not view it as divine per se. I want to fucking go home), I will be staying saturday in The Place Without Fun. One more day. Feels like ages!

I can feel it spreading. More drugs! Fight for me, over-the-counter cold medication! I suppose the upside is that its not contagious. I've been around everyone this weekend, trying to make them as miserable as me, and it has not proved effective. So I'm all Cool and the Gang.

hey, i think he likes it!...

Horticulture rules!, Or how I stole a doorhandle from rednecks

2005-03-17T23:59:00.000-06:00

Only one of those is true. You must decide.

The tidal wave of spring break has begun to cede, and now we assess the damage that was wraught in its wake. I, for one, accomplished next to nothing. No, let's be fair and honest. I accomplished nothing. Nothing of import, anyway. I did smack Fightin' Mad around like it was going out of style. And we came up with some bitching movie/t-shirt/comic ideas. All of these ideas, zero pen-to-paper action going on. I'm beginning to see why I get nothing accomplished.

Me stealing a doorhandle (two words? One word? I don't really care) is the true part, for those keeping score at home. Fightin' Mad lives on the third floor of his building, and as I was leaving the building circa midnight, a doorhandle literally crumbled into dust in my hand.

"Gadzooks!" I exclaimed.

The door leading to apartment 302 swung open, and an angry redneck wearing a Ski-Doo jacket yelled at me to keep it down, or he would "kick my fucking faggot ass." I'm going to skip ahead here in the story, because I had a second thought. Right then, Reader's Digest: I stole that asshole's doorknob for being a douche, and I still have the other disintigrated doorhandle.

Earlier-spoken-to-segue: If a person is gay, are they all gay? Are certain parts gayer than others? Could an ass be gayer than an earlobe? It's thoughts like this that severly limit my circle of friends.

Man, I wish I remembered exaclty how Cosmo put buying an iPod in perspective. As you're well aware, many people heralded my buying an iPod then end of modern civilization. Listen, if I could end civilization by purchasing consumer electronics, we'd be fucked, Mr. Constantine. Unfortunately, that's a power I lack. Regardless, Cosmo made me feel good about people being jackasses. Also, he reminded me that me feeling good about other people being jackasses is what I do best. It's self-assuring conversations like this that make elitism so fun.

About one-to-two people will get my easy-to-spot Constantine reference. I'm talking about the film here. The film was actually kind of good, in a campy sort of way. I had horrible expectations walking into the theater, and my partner that night was mystical magical Peter Hoffert, who tends to bring out the best of sarcasm. He's a good kid, and it was good to see him. I hadn't seen him since April of last year. Regardless, Constantine was okay, barring a few ridiculous script points. There were a lot of one-liners that stuck out like a sore thumb. Shit, I'm not even going to mention the Holy Shotgun.

You know what, I will mention the Holy Shotgun. How... how did that get by the quality people at the fucking production company? Did they even read the source material? However, for all the flack the Holy Shotgun took during the pre-release phase, it was actually pulled off sort of decent. Still shouldn't have been in there, but it was okay. And god damnit, I have a softspot for Keanu Reeves. Don't ask me why. Please.

Excited to get out of this town? I am.

it tastes like jasmine...

CURSE YOU EBAY!!!

2005-03-15T16:30:00.000-06:00

ebay. It has come to take over my every thought during the day. All I can think about is getting more and more cool things to eventually put in my closet. Oh the regret of buying useless crap. I use the term "useless" lightly, since I AM getting Fatal Fury 2 for the genesis. Who doesn't need that. What i really enjoyed about purchasing that game, is the reason the guy was selling it. I quote, "This game is AWESOME, except I always get my butt kicked in it". It put a tear in my eye. This pathetic excuse for a gamer is selling a rare treasure to ME. He has no idea how much of a loser he is. Wonderful. Anyway, I have bid on like 8 things in the last 48 hours. Its getting ridiculous. But I really need these things. Especially the "limited edition" Resident Evil 4 umbrella....yeah I didnt get it, but it really exists! I SWEAR!

As some...er one person may know, I am currently writing an action movie. There is no way in hell I will be able to actually MAKE this movie, until I am filthy rich from selling my crap on ebay, but it will be a good story hopefully. My support comes from seeing Vin Diesel and Arnold Schfalgnizatger (?) movies, and realizing how terrible they are. That really gives me hope. Why in all HELL would you name your child Vin, motherfucking Diesel. The kid pops out, pump his ass full of 'roids, and send him to boot camp. 20 some-odd years later, we make him a movie star. shit, did i just call Vin a movie star? double shit, did I just call him by his first name only? I just want to reassure everyone that I have NO relation with Mr. Vin Diesel, and no plans to have any relations with him. Don't take that wrong either you sick sons, I know who you are. Yes you....with the long hair...and the.....face. Boooooooooznatch, fatty.

full

2005-03-14T22:59:00.000-06:00

This weekend has been fucking strange. I can't explain it in any other way, but it was also a good strange. I don't know... I'm doing really well and am really happy. The pictures above are new and I'm proud of them bitches.

Wow, iPods are about the most expensive thing I've ever laid eyes on.

2005-03-14T22:05:00.000-06:00

It's true! Primal urges lurking deep within the soul have compelled me to purchase the trendy item of the last however many years they've been available: iPods. So pretty and yet so functional. Unfortunately, all of my digital music is on my Vaio in the Twin Cities, so here I sit, patiently waiting to actually use my 340 dollar piece of electronics. I'm quite apprehensive to actually use this, because my inexplicable ability to choose the one defective unit in a sea of perfectly functional units. As a sign of good hope, Hillary, the kind yet personality-deficient clerk at Best Buy, chose my iPod. This should be a portent of good news.

20 gigs, baby. Not enough to hold my music collection, but enough so that my vast collection of Beatles/Pavement/Guided by Voices/Thomas Dolby music will be with me where ever I may wander. Man, I don't have any god damned Thomas Dolby. I wish I did, but I don't.

And another thing. On a whim, I whimsically purchased Katamari Damacy, the current buzzgame of video game enthusiasts. Without a doubt, this is the most random Japanese mind-raping I've been privy to. Do I ever love it! Rolling a ball, collecting people and buildings... this is what dreams are made of.

I want to return to the 340 dollars I spent on my new, currently paperweight-esque iPod. To say that I am excited to use it would be an understatement. But hey, there's a question that's been circling the drain of my mind ever since I handed over the piece of plastic that creates goods. Does this make me a sell-out douche? Am I now one of the shameless trendy a-holes?

Why yes, yes I am. But at least I listen to my music on a shiny new iPod, you poor pieces of shit.

Here's a feeling people like myself and Burky T experience more often than I think we should: Buyer's Remorse. Familiar with it? Basically, it's a human impulse to feel negatively after spending an amount of money that seems high on something. I've felt it numerous times, especially when I plunk down money on something I don't exactly need. The effects are immediate and severe; ranging from mild nausea to full-blown suicidal tendencies. Spending 340 dollars on one item was the most money I've spent on any one thing in my life. Just thinking about makes my soul hurt.

Switching tracks: Spring Break. Lazy, albeit good, thus far. The fateful confrontation has not yet fully been completed, but I will say that winning against Burky T in GGX2 is a rough prospect. Suffice it to say, I still kick bueno mucho ass with characters like Zangief and Hugo. Why am I good with relatively lame characters? It's a game of the mind. Besides, winning with Guile/Remy/Slayer is easy. I need a challenge.

Oh wait, more Spring Break news. I almost met a girl. I shall pursue this! And, finally, don't expect constant updates from everyone. The weekend rule is in effect, and I'm not gonna crack the whip on Spring Break. Everybody just shut up and enjoy your Yum-Yums. Now, I'm gonna kick back, watch some Degrassi, and hit someone over the head with a 40.

So long, and thanks for all the Yum-Yums...

Ah! Break the spring!

2005-03-13T22:11:00.000-06:00

So it has been decided I will be staying here, where I curently am, Staples MN, for a while. hopefuly just untill I can get my comic book done. (don't make fun, I will do my best to make it classy!) I took my mom's station wagon and got everything I needed from that shity apartment with those people I hate (for a nother two weeks or so anyway).

It has been imposible to post, I have had less than no time. I want to fall asleap now, wich is silly beacuse I slept till two today... Infact I want to quit right now ... and sadly enough I will. but tomarow I will spend the whole day making this Blog look rocken... either that or I will end up watching "Quigly down under" at four in the morning again.

dks;lldfk devochek
I'm so pathetic.

Best Conversation......ever

2005-03-11T14:46:00.000-06:00

To those of you who think you've had some "funny" or "strange" conversations before, bow down before your master. Jokes, these are not. A simple exchange of words between two civilized warriors in the King of Fighters Tournament. I entered this Tournament of Champions to avenge the death of my master, Garlic Johnson - the master of Teras Kasi...the video game. But alas, my story has changed once again. I no longer seek fortune and glory, as my son Indiana once did, no...the days of my eternal life are now filled with anger and remorse. I shall track him down - I was not given the skill of Hunting +4 for nothing. The following night, I made my way to Osaka, Japan.

As I walked off the plane, I was honored by my welcoming of little Japanese men in Pokemon costumes. It was an exciting scene, until the Charmander pinched my ass. Without hesitation, I Shippu-Jinroukened his ass in two. I flipped his mother a Wisconsin state quarter, and I was on my way.

The park was a bit chilly for the third friday in April, but I could feel his presence. There was no denying it. As the blossom tree swayed, I could make out the figures of the three warriors. The sun shifted, and I could make out the face of the first warrior. At first look, I thought it was Joey Lawrence from earlier episodes of NBC's Blossom, but as the sun continued on, the other half of "it's" face was revealed. I kid you not, it was a half Joey Lawrence from Blossom, half David Carradine man smoking a corn cob pipe.
" did you watch o to tha C, dropp it like its wha? HAWT, " he asked.
" I downloaded the new ep, I haven't gotten a chance to see it yet! Was it as good as I want it to be?" I replied.
" i dont know for sure, but it was quite good. you cant get anymore classic than being trapped in a mall overnight"
"Shhh! No spoilers!" I yelled.
"haha i know, it was on the commercials all week. thats all i will tell you, except seth and ryan are totally gay and rub boners, and then they dry hump each other until they get rug burns"
"Fuck you, I won't believe it"
"NO IM JOKING! I MADE THAT UP" he yelled, as if he was working at a newspaper.

He knew what was coming next...he could obviously see me charging down. I quickly jumped up and Fierce Kicked and gave him the Spinning Bird Kick of his life. Yes, I CAN do the spinning bird kick.

"Dude, I rub one one out to Smallville" He belted.

When I realized that it was Dirty Uncle Randy, my knees buckled. I had remembered our last encounted left me with a wet willy and a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew how to handle this situation.

"Fool, I totally put my fingers in my anus while i watch Yes, Dear" I replied.
"GIMME DAT ASS"

A mere crash kick was all it took to bring him down. He was tired from masturbating over the pictures he showed me in his room over a cold Coca-Cola.

"I knows yous likes the hair in dat ass. Gimme dat ass, bitch!"

I knew the voice, and I recognized the face. None other than my sworn enemy, Ken DM2. I cannot explain the nonsense of what exactly happened next, but parts of it were retained in my memory.

"What bitch wouldnt want to pull long hairs out of her butthole, thats how you fucking pass the time on sundays, Belki." He whispered in my ear.
"Well, DM2, have you forgotten my training under Garlic Johnson? He has finally taught me the last maneuver in Teras Kasi-Chu. i call it the Top Hat Blast, whereI reverse shit in your hair and suck it in. It really hurts a lot. Trust me." I formally replied.

A blank stare was all I got in return. I then confessed.

" I'm so high on shrooms right now, hold on, howie mandel is knocking on my car window..."

When Uncle Ted and little Bobby pulled up we all rode into the sunset together. I don't remember anything beyond that. I still haven't woke up yet. How am I writing this? Mind-Ink. It's not over DM2, it's not over yet...

boundaries

2005-03-11T02:21:00.000-06:00

Tonight, a discussion of actual importance took place in my very own home. Fighting over the brush was not the issue at hand--rather, a deeply routed problem in our world.

As Trevor and I spoke to each other about what our future holds, I explained that I had dreams to travel to africa to volunteer and do what I can to help.

"You should help your own people," my mom chimed in.
"My own people," I thought, "The people in Africa are as much my people as the community I live in."

Why do people rely so heavily on these boundaries we call countries? We, as a world, need to work together--the powerful must help out the poor. Being a citizen of the United States doesn't mean I have anymore responsibility to those of the same nationality than those in other countries.

Being a human, I am sensitive to all humans needs. No person comes before another, for we all feel and deal with pain; however, some people deal with more than I, a middle class bitch, can imagine. Believe me, I understand the poverty problem the United States faces every day, yet the homeless and indigent have options that are not offered in other parts of the world. Our country continues to throw away our tax dollars on killing other humans. This money could go to educating, housing, feeding and preparing people in need. It's unfortunate that, instead, we add to the death toll.

Anyways, I'm going to help people who don't have what the U.S. citizens have. I want to help in the third world countries. I want to do more for other people than I do for myself. I want to be selfless. I want to see something good come from this disgusting human life I live. I don't believe that I should conform to these boundaries the rich have set, instead I'm going to help out everyone--all deserving humans. We are one world and it's time we begin to see that.

An addendum: The epic clash

2005-03-10T23:56:00.000-06:00

Do not be fooled by the talk of others. There can be only one Ken. My Ken. Civilizations pay tribute to my prowess, giving virgins and gold trinkets to appease the mighty DM2.

You will rue the day you crossed me, Terry Bogard!

Nerds

2005-03-10T23:53:00.000-06:00

Nothing pumps me up like the Mortal Kombat theme song...test your might. Anyways, I just realized how fun it is to clean guitars. Yeah, I know I'm a nerd, but so are you. Don't try to deny it, you know you love Pokemon and can name all 150 originals. Don't try to deny that you haven't read all the Harry Potter books.

Speaking of nerds, I realized today how awesome nerd conversations, or convos, are. My personal favorite is what is your ideal mutant ability. Personally, I enjoy the power of flight, but how much can one really do with flight. Therefore, I decree that my mutant ability would be awkwardness. Picture this, you are fighting a heated battle with some super villian. Everybody who tries to beat him fails. Everybodies attacks are either missing or not doing any harm. I step in and I use my mutant ability to create the ultimate akward silence. Kind of like the ones that happen while riding the middlebrook elevator. The super villian would be like, "hey guys...yeah I'm kind of tired...and I need to wash my dog." or some other lame excuse just to leave the situtation.....................what am I talking about?

There is a light that never goes out

2005-03-10T23:22:00.000-06:00

Tired. Sleep has been my undoing--rather, a lack of sleep. On the bright side, tomorrow presents opportunities to sleep in and return to whence I came. Both are not the most appealing, but god damn, there are new comics out that need to be bought. I must do this thing. For the comics. They deserve it.

I don't know if I told you about my feelings for the Apple brand IPod. Basicaly, it is the object of my affections... trendy, sleek, capable of holding a plethora of songs. These are qualities I look for in friends. To find them in a piece of consumer electronics.... this is big. I must have it! Cosmo has procured one. I have not. The universe must right be seek at balance. Or, Cosmo's could become mine. Curse the beautiful piece of plastic being upwards of 200 dollars. I'm not Jebediah Moneybags here! I'm Joe Collegestudent. Selling drugs is my main source of income, and I don't even sell drugs!

I haven't worn short sleeves in a while.

You may recall my apprehension about getting our good name out in the air and attracting new readership. Some of the readers from when it was just little ol' me posting seem mixed on the new results. Some like my particular brand of non-humor, some are agitated that this has become a forum for others, some like all changes sans the new layout (which will be changing to a more... custom version in the coming weeks). These changes, regardless of your where currently stand on them, are permanent (again, save the layout). I started this colossal experiment in art, and I will sail this into the night's end.

On a related note, our name has been spreading relatively quickly. All negative feelings about this are gone. Indeed, tell your friends and family! Word has spread to the forums I tend to haunt, including the Cabal and Portable Review, which is good. Those cats are the pajamas of said cats. Trust me, that last sentence makes sense, you just gotta believe!

A midterm paper looms over my head like a lion waiting to pounce on a nubile gazelle. Can gazelles be nubile? I don't know, I'm not a botanist or an animalist or anything. All I know is that my animality is a penguin that walks up to you and lays an egg that explodes, showering the stage with ribcages and femurs. A select few will get that reference; to those that do, enjoy it while it lasts. No more MKT for you!

Back to the paper! The suggested topic is a film analysis of a film of my choosing. What film did I choose? Clerks, although literally zero scholarly sources exist for anything relating to Kevin Smith. So, as has been my answer to everything lately, I turn to Ridley Scott's Blade Runner. Man, I love that movie. Film noir is one of the best genres of film available.

"Hey Adam, you gonna pass the salt?"
"Blade Runner."
"I hate you."

This paper is calling my name. I must return to it.

"Why don't you go do your paper, you fucking moron?"
"Blade Runner."

....

one of these days, i'm gonna kill that bastard...

Official Apology

2005-03-10T21:26:00.000-06:00

After posting my last entry, I quickly realized how retarded I really am. After working 8-5 at a newspaper, that is whats produced. When you are dry on the Blast Milk, that is what happens. Theres no joking at my place.

As some of you might know, we are mere hours away from the Ultimate Clash at Demonhead. The ultimate battle of fame and glory shall commence this Saturday, in the Steel Cage of Death. It all comes down to the Ken vs Ken. Last time yours truly was destroyed by a mere hadouken fireball. I can barely admit it. Next time shall bring different results. Stay tuned for match results next week.

The newspaper job can also be referred to as a giant zombie-creation factory, as this is how i feel when i leave. oh yes, not even a simple episode of the oc can bring me back from the dead. And the though of doing it all over again tomorrow, puts a twinkle in my eye. Rejoice friends.

Good 'ol Grandpa

2005-03-10T21:14:00.000-06:00

As soon as the door opened, I knew Grandpa and Grandma weren't joking around when they said they were going to have sex in the closet. I was eleven at the time, and I guess I just didn't understand what love meant. As Grandpa approached me from behind, and put his wet hands over my eyes, I just giggled. This was an old game we used to play. "Guess who?," he would say. "I don't know!" was always my reply. He would then pull the back of my Power Ranger underwear over my head and knee me to the floor saying, "It's the stud who just boned your Grandma, you little shit." After a good laugh, I would retire to the basement to wash the clothes off their backs. I could never understand how Grandpa could blow his nose inside his jeans, but I guess that's just another special trick he could do. Those were the days.

I am SO glad that was nothing like my childhood.

Laugh Riot

2005-03-10T18:47:00.000-06:00

Today has been a “Laugh Riot”! I danced I sung, I put my finger on my tongue. But alas, THE TRIBULATION! That’s all that has happened, all that probably will a damn good break from the stress and bills.

I looked at pixels on different screens. I was naked resulting in screams.

That’s all I can write. It’s boring I know,
But tomorrow will be better and one of these days
I will write very well, or at least that’s my hope.

Kay, nuff O’ the cop out!

Today is as boring as I formally said, not much happened. Which seems rare, no midnight calls no getting kicked out of homes, I ate pretty well. I’m still debating whether or not I should come back from spring break, I think I could get a lot more work done if I just collected a few things and went home. The only problem with that is, I fear that THE letter from the one college I applied to might be there, and if it isn’t I don’t want to be around when it dose get there. Maybe it would be better not to know in the long run. If I could just pretend that College doesn’t exist it might be for the best.

What ever happens though I would really like to get out my first publication as soon as possible, either as a beginning to my career or a way to finance my costly education habit.

Interesting fact: my hands smell like nicotine, but there is not justification.
(Maybe I produce it naturally! That’s got to be it, due to my exposure to nicotine at a young age and an inherent genetic flaw one or all of my glands have forgotten there original purpose and taken to the dirty business of creating a nicotine like substance. My body running entirely off of nicotine, I have become the perfect being. By gum! I would be able to attract every woman with a smoking habit! All those pieces of legislation to remove smoking in restaurants! Instead of young attractive Emo Seen girls will sit there drink there coffee and make out with me! I win! God Damn It I Finally Win!!!)

I think I need to come clean, if you didn’t notice I have avoided saying what my publication is. I don’t know why since the only people who will be reading this are my close personal friends. Still it is going to take a lot of strain to come out of the closet, even though you all know… I make comic books. I’m so sorry, please forgive, it’s all I can do.

I have done my best to preserve my artistic sensibilities, but I think I can make some fat cash in comic books; at least I’m les likely to be in debt for the rest of my life.
Well I’m hungry from all of that writing… so I am going to eat a package of ramen! Woo hooo!

I can’t wait to get home and eat a big block of cheese! I miss cheese so bad, I am borderline vegan most days.

Peace (War)
Home Fries!

Your little lost sun beam,
Michael S. Beachy

feeling better

2005-03-10T18:43:00.000-06:00

Yes, it's true-- I'm feeling better. Actually, I wouldn't go as far to say I'm feeling better, rather my mind is beginning to let go. My chest is still killing me if I'm not preoccupied, and I constantly feel like I'm holding back tears; however, I know that this isn't the end of the world. I'm going to find someone who I love just as much if not more. I've also realized I don't need him. Besides, after what he did, he doesn't deserve me. There are better people out there.

Another bit of bad news hit me last night. I did not get into college, AGAIN. It was really bad timing, but now that I've taken the time to think about it, I know that I'll find my way no matter what. Of course, I'm not taking the same path as everyone else, and that scares me; nevertheless, I'm going to be happy in the end.

My new exciting news is that I'm trying really hard to get into an art school to study photography. I'm enlisting one of my best friends, Mike, to help me get everything together. If this doesn't work out, I'll probably just move to africa and help people who are affected by aids. At least I'll be doing something good with my life. To be quite honest... thats what I really want to do with my life. After I get my Bachelors, I want to join the Peace Corps. Thats a big dream though, and it's quite possible a lot of things could get in the way of that. I'm still quite happy about coming to this decision.

Tomorrow the discussion of religion... not me!

The Homeless Elite

2005-03-09T23:20:00.000-06:00

Immediately: I feel trepidation about the current status of the blog. This blog, in particular. After adding four other people to the creative roster, we've become somewhat comporate in our "splamming" the address. I like the increased traffic, I'm cautious about the possibilities. However, perhaps the worry is for naught. This is a thought dump; a writing center. The bigger the audience, the higher the potential our thoughts will get read/critiqued.

Linus, you fox! You've outwitted me for the last time. Although, I feel I should be honest. I have outwitted myself when it comes to actually meeting with you. Outside your door I stood, waiting with bated breath. Your door... it was closed! So I did what any rational human would do. I stood outside for five minutes, refusing to knock on a matter of principle. I think it was because I didn't want to disturb you, acutally. That was a social situation I was not prepared for. Not in the least.

Because I'm positive the others who were present for the... communication breakdown will report on it, it is my duty to tell you, the loyal reader, the true series of the events. A chronology:

1. Spying my Danish Butter Cookies purchased for me by my mom (they aren't that great. The cookies, not my mom) on Pete's side of the room, I decided to offer an inquiry.
"What the fuck are my cookies doing over here?"

2. His response:
"You don't eat them. I didn't eat them. Andrew ate them."
This is a possibility, but that wasn't my point. My cookies on his side of the room? Surely you jest!
"Why do you have my fucking cookies, you asshole?"

A clarification: While my writing flows down the gullet like a smooth brandy, I actually do talk like that. Mostly, I do it because I like the irony, and bad words are funny. Hee hee!

3. Grabbing the tin of cookies, I fling myself through the hallways, proclaiming to all the treachery of Peter "Mumbleshanks" Lund.
"Motherfucker steals cookies! Beware!"

4. A long and heated debate ensues. In a twist, Peter procures the tin of cookies and eats one. While eating, a huge clump of half-chewed cookie flies back into the tin.
"You spit in my cookies!"

5. Grabbing the tin of cookies back from him, the torrent of rage and bile spilling from my mouth made gods blush. This was a transgression of the highest calibur. We have a homeless person who needed those not-so-great Danish Butter Cookies to survive! And now I was forced to throw them away!

And somehow, like always, I am painted as the badguy in this situation. All I did. all I did was right a few cosmic wrongs. Is that so bad? To want to the universe to be free of cookier-spitter-oners? (<-- that word rhymes with boners.)

I digress. A new phrase dominating souls: Blast milk. Creativity is thusly measured in quantities of blast milk. Where does one procure blast milk, you may ask? From the teets of bitches, I reply.

Journalism comes and goes in waves, as far as my liking is concerned. But today was one of the few "this rules" days in a while. To put it simply, in a word: jargon. Naturally, I'm elitist, because... you know, I fucking rule. But there is a whole language devoted to sounding important in smart in a particular field. Sign me up. This was not the only reason I enjoyed journalism today. Obituaries. Obituaries about coke fiends. The lab involved researching a state senator (in my case, the lovely man-goblin Julianne Ortman, Rep.) and then writing a canned obit about them dying in some seafood restaurant.

That's the first 2/3 of the lab. The last 1/3 was genius! A source close to the medical investigation has just released non-attributably info regarding the investigation. Apparently, the cause of death was a cocaine overdose. This, in and of itself, is comedic. A prominent state senator dying of a cocaine overdose? I'll take two. Here's the real comedy, however.

Everyone in the class was assigned a different state senator. There are two sections of the class. Each section has twenty students. That's forty state senators. Still with me? Good.

Now imagine the following scene. Forty state senators are eating seafood at the Oceanaire Seafood Room in Minneapolis. Simultaneously, all forty senators keel over and die... of a cocaine overdose. Imagine that scene! It's like hearing a funny joke from God. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, you cherish it. Any time forty senators are in the same room and die simultaneously from a cocaine overdose, I make my calendar. You should too.

Light and or Space

2005-03-09T23:09:00.000-06:00

As I was walking across the bridge to my 4H meeting, I started to think about transferring to St. Johns. Upon thinking this thought, I realized that if I did transfer I would miss walking across the Washington ave. bridge. The reason I would miss it is because of the empty space between me and the Mississippi. Open spaces are amazing, they give room for your mind to think. Another thing I realized while walking was that I would not miss the lights.

The Washington ave. bridge is full of orbs filled to the brim with artifical light. I can't stand it, I just cannot stand it. There is something beautiful about the night and too many street lamps just destroy it. An odd street lamp here and there is great for shadows, but lamps every few feet is ridiculous. Oh well.

Me and "Strange Face" just had a conversation about chopping down the street lamps on the Washington ave. bridge...dark dark dark...dark dark dark...quack quack quack...

I'm low on "Blast Milk"...

2005-03-09T12:00:00.000-06:00

I believe a proper forewarning is in order to all of you. I am a nerd. Though you might think i have the "fly threads" or "sick hairdo", i am a nerd. A scum-sucking, level-upping, day-dreaming, combo-memorizing, dice-rolling, spikey-haired, fantasizing game-nerd. I don't know about the scum-sucking, but the point is that if you find a video game reference in my writing, Congratu-freakin-lations, you're a nerd too.

Slave to the advertisement business. That's what it should say on my business card...if I was worthy enough to have one. Somehow i got a job as a Graphic Artist at a newspaper with no education and inadequate skills. I can photoshop like a beast, and thats about it. The way I see it, this is the first step in promoting my message. Blender-operated Automo-planes. Yes, don't be afraid children. Think of the possibilities. No, really. Stop and think. Ok, I stopped and thought about it....bad idea. I guess I really have no meaning being here as a Graphic Artist.

I'm really having a hard time with what I want to do with my life though. So many projects and interests I have gotten myself into. There's no way I can finish anything. This summer brings forth my third chance at pursuing one of my interests thru education. Hopefully this time it works out. I am going for 3d Animation and Game Design. I have decided that this is my most previous educated area. If only there was a Jack of all Trades job out there, where I could put my years of video editing, design, web design, drawing, film, and katana skills together and become the Ultimate Being. I still haven't finished that damn conversion of Hero Quest that I started over 4 years ago. That game was gonna be the hi fizzle shnazbot this side of Winkle-berrington. NO JOKE. And don't even get me started on Crempker. Those of you that have been lucky enough to have seen the somewhat hurriedly put together first episode, be happy. Cause Daniel, there's gonna be a Crempker drought these coming days. You see, Old Man Burky here has spent his credit cards to the max on delicoius game cube games and tvs and such, and he needs to bow to the Advertisement Butchers, and work 8-5 for the rest of his life. This of course drains the creative energy, or "Blast Milk", as i like to call it...from now on...Therefore disabling me to put forth the effort needed to fully give the audience of about 4-5 people the excitement and joy, of a show made of stolen photos. I need a kleenex...strike that, facial tissue.

Be my friend, because the characters I draw won't talk to me anymore.

Hit (5:49 AM)

2005-03-09T06:39:00.000-06:00

Sub title: Divine Retribution.

I hit him!

I actually hit Adam, My protector and my care taker. When no one else would take me in he did, and I hit him? And over what a silly fucking insult, we have been insulting each other like that since middle school. The worst part is I never apologized, and probably won’t, it is the same shit we have always said to one another, but this time I felt justified for hitting him.

I used to get in fights all the time; it’s a stupid way to compensate for not being a man. I used to fight and now I smoke cigars or embrace my femininity. I haven’t honestly hit some one in a long time, there are the occasional accidents, or playful hitting, but I hit him for real, and it felt good, I missed it. It’s not a matter of how hard I hit him, I think I hit him as hard as any time I was joking, but I tingled all over and wanted more. I hate violence. Physical prowess is completely unimportant in today’s world. I have always felt a little cheated because I would do very well if technology wasn’t around to give the next guy a boost up. My teeth are perfectly strait naturally, I haven’t had much trouble with my tonsils, I am generally pretty healthy, and naturally strong, with out having to work at it, but I have never been the most beautiful or thoughtful boy in the world. I feel like I’m a big ball of potential energy, and that when I die, instead of it releasing it will just shift to another person, if that makes any sense at all.

I hit him, he accepted it, I felt good and I went to bed. 1:00 tonight.

3:00: my alarm is going off, that damn wrist watch wont ever give up, but it isn’t where I left it down on the floor, it’s up on the table. I grab for it and put it to my ear, the ringing has stopped and now some garbled words are coming through my watch, my watch that I am holding so well in my hand.

I only remember the reaching, like my right hand and arm were the only parts of me awake, I remember reaching for the telephone with one long arching motion that lasted forever. And then I’m talking with some one, a girl, jezus I’m doing well for being asleep. Then I’m waking up and auto pilot is shutting off.

“Can I come pick you up?”
Hesitation “yeah”
“Am I bothering you?”
Hesitation “no no no, just come and get me”

The hesitation wasn’t me debating something internally, it wasn’t me deciding if I should tell Nique the time and go back to sleep, it is my brain failing to communicate. I didn’t really think at all even in at the end of the conversation I just did the right thing, on impulse.

My mind kicks and sputters as it tries to adjust to being awake such a short time after going to sleep, and continues to do so after the conversation is over. It takes me two minuets to realize that the voice belonged to Nique and Nique belonged to hysteria. I get up and sit down, I re equip myself with my wrist watch, bracelet, belt and jacket, Peter is up already awoken by the sound of the phone no doubt, I borrow his card key and leave him with a message incase Nique calls again.

I stumble out the door, and on to the elevator, press the button, lean back against the wall. The elevator feels a lot more potent than usual. I enjoy the feeling of being tossed around a bit and then I get off, first floor. My eyes are dead and my stomach is burning, one of the reasons I was so grumpy was that I hadn’t gotten enough food the day before, but wouldn’t tell anyone. I should be able to miss a meal or two and not get pissy at the most important people.

Ah, but no worries fair reader for retribution would yet shower on my head. I waited, for hours down stairs in the lobby, put up with a snoozing security guard, (I secretly want to be his best friend) and observed a surprising amount of people pass through the lobby. A boy and a girl came through at one point.

“…Christ Jake!” she half shouted as they barreled through the door together.
“What? (Unintelligible) just cause I’m DRUNK!”

(the name of the drunk has been changed, not to protect the innocent, but merely because I forgot what it was.)

And as quickly as they appeared they disappeared out the door. They proceeded to do a ballet for me out side the picture window I was looking out of, a lot of what appeared to be shouting a lot of running around and hating each other. The drunken boy’s care taker talked on the phone as he ran up to her and talked in her face, she turned around.

I stand up and start pacing. It wakes the Security gaurd.

"What did you say?"
"I didn't say anything my shoe just made a squeeking noise"
"are you a resident here?"
Hesitation "..."
"are you waiting for some one?"
Hesitation "No, I'm just staying with some freinds for a day or two. I got a phone call at three, from one of my freinds, she sounded awful she was going to come pick me up. I'm freaked out"

Another hour, I begin to count the minuets. At five I leave. I love Nique but I don’t, three hour wait, love Nique.

The elevator lurches on it’s way back up and I think that maybe it would be best if I didn’t come home from spring break. That I leave the life of the Ronnin behind and get a real job or something that resembles one.

And now I’m watching the sun come up, as Nique is sleeping her one hour before school, before she has to pick up the shattered pieces of her Anton filled future and start again. Just another example of how every man and woman, boy and girl, are all interconnected, how that connection is a dark and beautiful god. I want to give Nique her rope, help her climb out of her hole in the ground.

Michael “Strange Face” Beachy
Eating humble pie

PS: I think I’m borderline retarded, but I’m hopeful they can shoot me full of medicine and make the retarded go away.

It Happened

2005-03-09T04:33:00.000-06:00

I know I just wrote a couple hours ago but even in these hours I got the shittiest news of my life. I once predicted that anton would screw sam in the ass. Well... he didn't get her in the ass yet but they are together. I got to find out from people who don't even live near anton nor talk to him. Isn't that fucking wonderful? Even better, its been a fucking month. After we broke up I said "anton, if there is anyone you end up dating, please don't date sam. That would hurt me a lot." WHAT THE FUCK??? my best friend just disregarded my feelings and went on his way with sam. Then he sat there and lied to me about what was going on.

The result: So, when i found out... my immediate reaction: Find a gun. Yeah, I know. Pathetic. I am that hurt though. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. My friend is dating my ex b/f who I intended on marrying. So I talked to anton about it for a long time. I bawled a lot... A LOT. Still am... however, I've run out of tears. I don't know. He expects me to remain his friend but he has been a really shitty friend lately. This just romoves the last block that topples the janga tower. I can't trust that he is thinking about my feelings ever again. Thats what friends do. They wouldn't do anything to hurt you... but he did... they wouldn't lie to you... but he did.... and most of all, they wouldn't try to justify their wrong actions... but what the fuck, HE DID. I don't know what to do. One half of me wants to throw anything anton related away and the other half wants to try to rebuild a friendship and hope to god everything works in my favor. What should I do?

sorry about the bad grammar....

instinct

2005-03-09T01:31:00.000-06:00

Life is painful. This is said over and over to me, yet I wonder why it has to be like this. Sure, I have my extreme highs; however, I spend the majority of my life wollowing in self pitty. This is really quite tragic. I can't remember a day that there were no complaints tunneling through my brain. I wish I wasn't like this-unhappy. It's difficult to go through every day wishing you were someone else. Of course, I can look in the mirror and say, "I'm fucking hot," but it doesn't go beyond that. Being me is a drag. I have no direction, no motivation, no talent, no skills, no life, no job and intellectually, I'm retarded. Even better, I have no self-esteem. BRAVO! How did I get to this place in my life? It was actually very easy. I started off by leaving everything I ever knew, then throwing away everything good in my life. It took only a week or two to check those things off my 'to do' list. Now, I'm here. I'm trying my hardest to rock climb out of this hole, but it seems that the soil isn't holding the rocks as well as I had hoped. Every time I think I have a good grasp, the rock slips out of the ground, and I'm back on my ass again. This is my plea... I need a rope.

Interesting Ecounters

2005-03-08T23:38:00.000-06:00

On my way to lunch a girl caught my eye. At first I could not quite comprehend what made her stick out. However, after a few moments I began to realize what was different about her.

She looked like she was in a music video.

She was looking side to side smiling...but there was no one around her. It was so crazy, because she was kind of saying something and then she did this weird head tilt and looked around some more. Just like a pop video! As "Music Video Girl" got closer I noticed two white strands coming from her ears. Ah ha! Curse you I-Pod.

Another strange encounter that I had was with someone wearing a bright purple shirt. Now think about this, how many people have you seen wearing purple shirts lately? Not many. Upon seeing her I thought to myself, "Nobody wears purple anymore." However, my brain forgot to disconnect my mouth from my train of thought. I think the girl was a teeny bit offended, but I knew her and I told her that she was a pioneer in fashion...maybe I should wear more purple...

Queen of Cans and Jars

2005-03-08T23:03:00.000-06:00

Feel. Feel closely. If you feel just close enough, you can actually feel the foul stench inhabiting our room. Many's the culprit for this crime-- perchance a piece of rotten fruit, mayhaps something else. Whatever the case, it has taken a firm hold of our abode, and the only way to combat the foul beast is to leave our window open constantly. I haven't felt an extremity in a long time. And no, that's no a masturbation joke.

I stand perched atop a gleaming tower of white, wielding a blade used to cut a swath through homework that once troubled me. Yesterday, the outlook was bleak. Today, I kicked out the jams, and obliterated any fucking chance of me being overloaded. Tomorrow, Wednesday, the All Father's day, this is the day that could potentially dampen my otherwise dry outlook. A lab, a midterm, a hall council meeting, another day of work. All of these things tomorrow makes. Never one to complain, I welcome the challenge. What's that old cliche? "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? Yeah, I don't really know about that one.

Let's talk about killing for a moment. Please. Because it's related to a topic that I find absolutely fascinating: death. I'm not fascinated with death in an emo sense, because that's fucking stupid; you know who are, you emo bastards. But death, normally, traditionally, is a very passive, silent thing. People do tend to go quietly in the night, as Death enters their home, stealing their soul and television. But people don't really die anymore. Not really. They pass away.

"Yo, Chuck. Did you hear Jim passed away?"
"Yeah, yeah. That was unfortunate. But did you hear? Terry died."

When you die, you really need to go. Don't be one of those annoying on-your-deathbed pussies. Here's what I want from you, and I'm not the only one. I'm really not the only one! No one else has the guts to say it. But I will, and it is this: when you die, at least try to entertain us. I mean, death, this is a good thing. It needs to happen, otherwise the universe wouldn't function properly. So if you're gonna die, you should enjoy it-- you get to find out what's beyond, right? Everyone wants to find out what's beyond.

"Hey Chuck, Terry says he knows what happens when you die."
"Terry says lots of stuff. Believe me, he doesn't know."

And for us? You get to do us the kindness of at least making your exit a fantastic spectacle. If you have six months to live, take four doing whatever you want, use the fifth for planning an elaborate death plan, and use the sixth for setting it into motion. Not only will you be giving us something worthy, but you'll feel good for accomplishing something, too. See? I think I just cured cancer right there. But I hope not.

We grow ever larger: Burky T joins our ragtag gang of rascals. Mike brought that up earlier. "Rascals" hasn't been said in a serious manner for about 30 years. That's a long time. Henceforth, I'm making it my goal to bring it back. Also, the phrase "That hurt like seven bitches on a bitch boat." I don't know where that's from, but god damn if it isn't funny.

Waves of exhaustion keep sweeping over me. Middlebrook Hall, for all of its charm, is really kind of shitty. The hallways are the most maddening off-white ever created by human hands (in fact, it wouldn't be far-fetched to say it was not created by people, but rather a lame demon). That's not the problem. The problem is the freaking repairs they do around here. When I say repairs, I mean complete destruction of eardrums at nine in the morning. That's early for me, and also annoying.

Creationists rejoice! Another blog has been created, this time a joint collaberation between myself and Krystle. It's a way to keep in touch. Barring any unforeseen consequences, I should be updating that within the next few days. Probably Thursday. I may or may not link you to it. I don't really care if you know or not.

'Tis time for me to part with you once again. Spring break could see less frequent updates. I'm relaxing the "We have but two rules" schtick for a little bit. That week only, actually. And for those of you just joining us (i.e. Nique and Burky), I would just like to say this.

We have but two rules here. Firstly, you must update once a day, and once a weekend. Also, you must have a nickname of your own choosing. Adam "DM2" Robinson and Peter "Mumbleshanks" Lund are examples of the format. I came up with Mumbleshanks, by the way. That's a little for-the-fans action.

Avoiding

2005-03-08T20:19:00.000-06:00

I am, as the title says, avoiding. Avoiding what, one might ask. I am avoiding school work. Today I recieved a C- on something that I believe is my strong point. To be perfectly honest, I almost cried. Oh well, life goes on and school is just another way of giving us ranks so that we can all feel terrible about ourselves or just the opposite. Back to the avoiding part; I'm avoiding school work because I don't want to do it. DUH! It seems useless to do when I feel that my work is going to end in a C-. I know learning from mistakes is necessary, but too often I make mistakes and at some point I must end it.

SPRINGBREAK: fuck no. Today I realized there will be no big vacation, no trip to mexico, no trip to staples... NO FUCKING TRIP. I'll spend a week in bed. What else am I going to do? I have negative friends. Well, I do have friends. Ex: Adam, Mike, Peter, Trevor and Tucker. However, they are spring breakings their balls off. So what is next for this beautiful vixen? As I said, a lot of laying in bed. I'll probably catch up on The OC, eat a lot, think about homework, cry, watch tv, but mainly lay in bed. Fuck.

Vegas Baby

2005-03-08T17:57:00.000-06:00

I am not a college student, so I don’t even know why I considered going on spring break, seems like it would be breaking the rules. I don’t do anything any way, and what would a break from doing nothing be? work. I decided to go any way, despite my limited resources and the ridiculous nature of the situation. I was going to Nevada home of shit and despondency, but I have never seen the desert before, not the real desert anyway, and I consider myself quite the traveler. I was going to go with my good friend Peter "Mumbleshanks", and his brother. Ah but there was of course an added bonus something that was going to make Las Vegas fun, leaving it. Personally I don't know what I would have done if I had to stay in Vegas for four days, seems like a living hell for a man with no money and an obsession with blinking lights. The plan was go to Vegas for ninety bucks a pop and rent a van, drive to Cali-fornia, visit us some San Diego, just four days of relaxing on a beach living in a van and beach bumming the hell out of spring break. Ninety dollars! I have less than no money, but I can smell a deal when I ... well I guess when I am in smelling proximity to said deal... any way it would give me to travel parts of the USA I had not previously visited. As Adam would say "I'm a fag for" cramped car trips across long stretches of the country. Of coarse the winds of fate blew ominous and the plan quickly crumbled to bubble dust. Though we tried, the van necessary for such an expedition became unattainable. I have returned to my original plan, go home, eat free (like always), and chill, which when it comes down to it sounds just about as good as Sin City any day of the week. Ever yours, the always positive Michael "Strange Face" Beachy

Ledges

2005-03-07T22:17:00.000-06:00

You know the scenes in cheesy movies where people just seem to click. A sort of love at first sight situation. I definately had one of those today. On my way to gospel choir I was going to walk along this concrete ledge. You know the type that little kids walk on and try to keep their balance. Well anyways, I was about to hop on the ledge, but before I did I noticed that a extremely well dressed girl had already jumped on it. I have never seen anybody do that but me, let alone a well dressed female. Therefore, I have drawn the conclusion that we were meant to be.
I picked up my guitar today and started to finish writing one of my songs. This song has a lot of dissonance, like the rest of my stuff. However, it is a happy dissonance. You know the kind I'm talking about. I started playing it at St. Johns and this girl told me to make up words to it. So I told her to give me a topic. She gave me the topic of, "Socks". How typical. Wait? Anyways, I wrote a pretty decent song, but it has been forgotten. Yeah I know, great story.

Hmmm....

2005-03-07T22:14:00.000-06:00

Alright, this is my first blog. I don't know whether this is the start of something good or bad, but I welcome whatever the fuck it is. I shall begin now:

If you don't like complaining, don't read this. If you don't like people who are self-obsessed, don't read this. If you want to read something exciting and meaningful, don't read this.

Basically, I'm in a terrible mood. The moment my eyes opened at 9:30 this morning I knew it was going to be a rough day. Of course, being me, optimism isn't usually present which would explain why I automatically decided it would be a bad day. Nothing horrific happened today. I got up, ate, went to school, came home, did homework, watched the tube, ate, did more homework and started writing this thing. It was the little things that ruined it all for me.

The biggy has to do with Anton. He gave me a call, suprisingly, to say hello. I was of course pissed about the day before, which is a long story. I confronted him about it, yet he felt it necessary to turn the situation on me. This is what has been happening since we broke up; every conversation turns into me being the bad guy and him being the angel. All I can do is apologize for being assurtive as he enjoys being right, or so he thinks. While we were together, I would have never let him get away with this shit, but things are different now. He has let go of me, yet I continue to hold on to him as much as possible. I let him be right when I know he is wrong, I don't get furious and yell, I avoid talking about whats on my mind to make him feel comfortable; all so he can go on thinking everything is fucking right with the world. When everything is perfect in Anton's mind, everything is perfect with us; thus, making us stay close friends. However, it is useless to go on about this-a war that won't end any time soon.

Another freaking wonderful thing that happened today has to do with my choices I've been making this past month. More specifically, I haven't been doing homework, going to school... I haven't been thinking about school at all. I found out today that I have tests on chapters I never even bothered to think about. I can't flunk out of community college. That would be the most embarassing moment of my life. I don't know what to do anymore. I realize I need to get my shit together; however, I don't have any motivation. Who really cares how I end up? No one. I'm on my own here and at this point in my life, living in a cardboard box would be fucking dandy for me. At least the box would coordinate well with my excessive emo feelings. Side note: I don't want to be emo... god help me! Anyways, I must drag myself out of this hole despite my resitance, or I'm going to end up working at blockbuster for the rest of my life.

Thats quite enough ranting about my life for one day. I'm hoping for a better outlook on life tomorrow.

Mother FUCKER!

2005-03-07T17:21:00.000-06:00

This is the third blog entry I am doing in so many hours. the third damn it! and it was all for this one same blog. from now on I will be wrighting in a wrighting program and pasting that bitch in here, beacuse that can not happen again. the first one was bad and deserved to go, but the last one was one of the best things I've ever written with all sorts of gushy shit about the fading light and watching the progress of the diminishing sun. there is no way I am writing another long winded self importent blog entery today, so you will have to put up with this short uninteligble complaint about nothing I could control and nothing that is relivent.

I AM NOT EVEN GOING TO SPELL CHECK THIS PEICE OF CRAP!

Comrade's Twenty Sixth

2005-03-07T00:05:00.000-06:00

We're growing ever larger. Should she accept the invitation, Nique would become our third. There is but one rule here: you must update once a day. You must. Not just for you, dear reader, but for ourselves. I run a tight ship here, a tight ship, and the only way this scurvy bunch of dogs is going to get any better is to read and write every day. I don't think I'm asking to much from anyone here.

I may be joining another, more... personal journal in the coming days, so I'll be sure to update you when that issue comes up again. A cult grows around me. Fame is something tangible that can be measured in the number of virgins sacrificed in your name. Let's hit one out of the park, gang. Kill those dirty virgins.

Ha, I don't condone the killing of virgins. What kind of moral leader would I be if I endorsed that? Seriously, don't kill any virgins. In this work-a-day world, I'd get the pants sued off of me so fucking quick your head would spin. No one wants this, least of all me.

Before I forget, the Incredible Hulk, who seems to have more zany antics than I once remembered, has compelled me to let you in on his little secret: he blogs! You can find the journal of the Incredible Hulk here. You must go, or he will become angry. You wouldn't like him if he were angry.

Temperatures, in an act of cosmic defiance, skyrocketed today, reaching (according to the Firefox weather watcher) a record 56 degrees. Interesting. A walk was had, words were shared, and an evening was made. Gotta love that warm weather, especially when it emerges from nowhere, like Godzilla. You never know when Godzilla will strike. That's partly the reason I want to live on a coast somewhere. I like to tempt fate, and I think I could take Godzilla in a hand-t0-hand fight. Fuck around I don't, Godzilla. I know you read this.

Tessa's blog, something I check every day numerous times, has yet to update since February. A travesty! Someone whose thoughts are so intense... Tessa, I know you read this. I decree that you must update. If not for you, for me.

I reiterate: we grow ever larger. Peter may join our cast of bandits. This is not so much a blog as it is a forum of thought. I am particular as to who may fall into our ranks, letting only the cream of the intellectual crop in my club. I'm elitist, but on a level far surpassing that of mere mortals. Again, I reiterate: I don't fuck around.

A Spirited walk in the Beautiful Weather

2005-03-06T23:39:00.000-06:00

Tonight is incredible, if some one out there lives in southern Minnesota, and is reading this tonight I highly suggest a visit out doors. I know I know, I am the shut in of shut in’s but look, you need to go outside, I don't care if you read this at three in the AM you have to do it. There are no excuses.
I went a walking myself about 15 minuets ago, listened to "Beautiful Freak" and decided I wouldn't trade lives with any one. It may be a struggle to get food, or go places I like to go, but I have it good. People love me, and I can prove it with physical evidence, of course this proof goes a long way to break down said love but that's not the point. I have immense amounts of potential energy, I've got dreams and I have a friend more than willing to pay me to fulfill those dreams. Everything is good! Everything, and now I have a master plan to rob "Claire's". Everything is on the rise, I'm feeling good. looks like I won't be much whinnying until a girl shows up. If I can keep to this solitary life for a while, maybe I will be ok.
Spring break is almost here, and while that usually doesn’t make a whole lot of difference to non college students I am all about it, I am going to go back to my home town for a while and word on the street is that every one from my circle of friends will be there! I have no Idea how long spring break is, but it means another thing for me, I get to put off getting a job for another long while, maybe by the time I get back I can peruse my true interests... robbing "Claire's"

My Brief Love Affair With Dangerous Darrin Pfeiffer

2005-03-06T02:41:00.000-06:00

Apologies for the long absence.

A few things to note, quickly: Say hello to Mike, my newest contributor. A wandering ronin (redundant?), Mike travels from town to town, fighting off the shackled of injustice with stylistic hair choices and biting wit. Well, I guess that's one thing to note. That's about all I have for news at the moment.

Our setting: a Target parking lot in the Savage/Burnsville area. It might have been Lake-Something-Or-Other, I don't know.

Our characters: Your loveable protagonist, me; Thumbs Up Guy.

We arrived at the Target store at roughly eight p.m. Trevor, tipped off from Mr. Diggle's parents (his name really isn't Mr. Diggle. That's just to protect the innocent), is searching for a friend from college, and along for the ride are Mike, Nique, and myself. Being the generous friend she is, Nique was driving us around. As we were pulling into the parking lot, however, a... sage in a red corvette pulled up next to us, and proceeded to give us a rigorous and well-executed series of enthusiastic thumbs-up.

An aside: how do you pluralize "thumbs-up?" Comments welcome.

Regardless, it was clear to me that Thumbs Up Guy had secrets; his knowledge of forbidden arts and tricks obvious. Locking eyes, I knew I would be his pupil, him my master. Unfortunately, no one in the car shared this sentiment. Reasons given for not following Thumbs Up Guy were legion, most notably some sort of traffic law violation for lane changing.

I was never one for the rules.

Mr. Diggle, our intended target (huzzah! A pun.), was indeed not present at this store, so the group decided to seek him elsewhere. I was not so easily swayed. Betrayed by those who call themselves my friends, I struck out on my own. Mainly because they left without me.

Alone and cold in a Target parking lot, I began to methodically plan my search for Thumbs Up Guy. My plan basically involved me walking in a general direction until I found him. Confident and eager for knowledge, I walked for what seemed like hours, through mud, snow, and water. It was then I had a revelation: I was over-zealous in my searching; it was foolhardy to think I could find Thumbs Up Guy alone. I asked for help. Verbatim:

"Excuse me, sir? If I were to walk in this general direction, would I find Thumbs Up Guy?"

"It's cold out, son."

Obviously, the elderly man was one of them. The Matrix only wanted him to not help me, I don't blame him in particular. Walking further proved futile, as sidewalk gave way to mud and impassable terrain. Dejected, I turned back. When I returned to the parking lot, there were no signs on a yellow car anywhere. Left to my own devices, they expected me to fail. I would not give in to their will.

I began to walk again, this time in the direction of Shakopee, a good 20 miles away. By my estimate, I could have made it there with mild frostbite. Again, I quested ever onward, until finally the sidewalk again gave out, and I was alone. Sensing help, I tried to flag down a passing police vehicle, who in response menacingly flashed his lights at me and sped away. To serve and protect, indeed.

Not content to go quietly into that black night, I fought the encroaching darkness with all my willpower, but eventually, it overpowered me. Delirious, I began to give everyone a thumbs up, as I was taught to do by my master, and dreamlike, I saw a light. Walking slowly towards it, my resolve grew. My strength returned. A fountain of youth! Unbeknownst to me, I was walking directly back to the parking lot. It was there that I met up with the rest of the group, who may or may not have scolded me for leaving.

That was friday.

Saturday was spent reading David Lapham's Stray Bullets, an oft-depressing but deeply engrossing series. A series of bells and whistles, positioned at strategic locations around my brain began to go off. Dangerous Darrin is close, I thought to myself. Checking the internet, my premonitions were confirmed. Burky T had said Goldfinger was coming to town. I had but to believe.

Four 14 dollars, you can't go wrong. We arrived for the final two songs of the opening band, City Sleeps. I do not shed tears for City Sleeps, as they were completely uninspired, and generally ignored by the crowd. Abbey and Trevor decided to search First Avenue, as this was their first visit. I'm an old hand here. My name is whispered with reverance when I pass. The second band, The Start, was actually a fun listen. The lead singer, a precocious female whose name I didn't get when I met her, stared at me most of the set. I was flattered.

By now, we had worked our way to the front of the hall. We had a choice of what to watch in the interim between bands: On the one hand, we had a projector playing The Animatrix. On the other, we have a projector playing WWE Royal Rumble. We talked amongst ourselves.

Goldfinger came out, and words cannot describe the next hour of my life. Jumping, moshing, singing, screaming, loving. Verbs all applicable. "Dangerous" Darrin Pfeiffer, cult hero for my group of friends, eventually stage-dove into the crowd, landing right in front of me. Shocked and paniced, I grabbed his head and shouted "I love you, Darrin!" He replied likewise, and was pulled onto the stage for more rocking. Abbey got one of his drumsticks. She is lucky.

Now, I'm tired. 'Tis late, and I guess more visitors are in town to see me/see whoever. Burky T and I clashed in the epic battle that was fated by the gods, and when we used our best characters, I emerged victorious. We weren't rocking what we normally rock, disc-wise, but I think I did okay. He won most, partly because he was practicing, partly because he had home-field advantage, partly because I was tired.

It is not over.

Rumors and speculation abound that Anton may be joining us tomorrow. We shall see to this, then!

I Feel a Short Introduction is in Order

2005-03-05T12:40:00.000-06:00

Hello, I'm Michael Sensea Beachy, Conceived in Alaska, far from the prying eyes of god, born in Eugene Oregon, the west coast where my soul still survives and raised in Minnesota. I have survived a fire, middle school, self administered first aid, homemade haircuts, and even several girls. I am 18 soon to be nineteen and i just want to be sixteen again. My life has been saved two times, once by my mother pulling me out of the before mentioned fire and once by a kindly man who knew I didn't have home any more far before I did. I have so far saved one life and endangered several others. I drift from place to place surviving on the good will of friends and acquaintances, and I will be writing to you great and powerful "Bloger" for as long as I stay with my good friend, he being the creator of this particular Blog. I hope to write down my adventures, antic dotes and, due to the internet format, my most whiny self deprecating sob stories, be prepared to listen constrained to your obligatory post poor blog, because I intend to write regularly.

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

2005-03-03T01:36:00.000-06:00

You can't have one. See, I'm fun like that.

Mike has officially moved back in, which I may or may not have mentioned in passing at one point in time. It has now become reality, and a strange, oddly distant reality at that. I like the feeling of being slightly adrift at all moments. I don't particular places. I like in-betweens. The golden age begin, says I! Work proceeds at a snail's pace. This is not an unforeseen consequence of Mike coming back. We knew this would happen. Timing, much like other wild beasts, refuses to be tamed.

There is something I feel I should mention. Gah, I hesitate. To speak its name is to give it power. It feeds off of the weak-willed. Its very existence seeks to enslave others, to bring more into its dark power. Yes, I am of course talking about the Facebook.

Forged out of a meteor by a demon, the Facebook is where people (perhaps I should reiterate: hordes of people, veritable throngs of those who lack the willpower to resist) from numerous colleges from around the charted universe come and waste time. Seriously, there is no point to using the Facebook. You may, however, acquire new internet friends through its connections. Wait, what's that sound? Oh yes, that's right-- it's me, weeping softly in the background, powerless to stop the spread of the disease.

Mayhaps I sound too... spiteful in my chastisement of a hobby some enjoy. This is for one reason alone: I (and I can't believe this is a verb now) facebook. I lay awake at night, cursing the foul invention, wishing to whatever higher power may be listening at that point in time for my time back. I can't help but check. Foul mistress, they name is Facebook!

Enough haberdashery! With Spring Break (SPRING BREAK! WHOO! /sarcasm) right around the corner, I must consider my options for how I will spend my free time. Numerous ideas materialize: I could journey to Hell, Michigan, with Trevor and Mike, battling the forces of evil along the way. I could work that week, making precious green pieces of paper. I could hang out with my dad before he goes back to the hospital for his second surgery.

I could do all of those things, but will I? Do I have the potential to do even one? Already, my mind has been made up; in fact, it has been for quite some time. Writing is on the agenda. I have 26-28 issues to write, all being between 32 and 48 pages. That's in the neighborhood of 832-1344 pages. A daunting amount for a first run. A first run of four proposed. We're looking at over 5000 pages written, drawn, and inked over the next few years of my life.

I could not be more happy with that prospect.

People don't tend to think in specific terms like that. No 'X number of pages' or 'Z number of issues.' As a matter of public discourse, I myself don't like to think like that. Art, which is something that is in the cards to be made by myself and associates, has to happen. Art is said to imitate life. For us, art is life, art is the underlying inspirado. We live, we love, we create. And we do it in the amount of time our carbon-based bodies will allow us.

Which brings me a good topic: Death. Death, as an idea, is something I just can't wrap my head around. Last semester, my grandmother entered her late 70s, and this prompted a few questions for me: What happens when you die? Where do you go? What do you see? Why do you die? How? All valid questions. But the question I could not avoid was the most troubling, and one I don't think people ask themselves enough: Why in the hell would you want to die?

What could possibly be the point in not existing? Convincing arguments have been against existing; that there is no point in living. Nihilism aside, imagining not existing is paradoxical in nature. What do you do after death? Who gives a shit? You're not around to care anyway. But here's a little insider information: Nothing happens when you die. You close your eyes, exhale, and rest.

But, being the ever stalwart and stubborn man I am, I've decided this whole 'death' thing was completely ludicrous. Troves, literally, heaps of ideas, stories, and activites need to be accomplished, written, and enjoyed in life. There is simply not enough time in the 'normal' life to do those things. So I says to myself, I say, "Hey, that's fucking dumb. Let's not do that, eh, love?" Myself instantly agreed, content in my quick wit and fast thinking.

So that's it. I'm not going to die.

I'm going to live forever, or die trying.

Day Tripper Zwei

2005-03-01T01:00:00.000-06:00

Simultaneously, I feel old and young again. Young because I spent over 36 consecutive hours awake, and old because I spent over 36 consecutive hours awake and I'm fucking tired. The weekend, however, was a blast. Wisconsin continues to amaze me; the many wonders it holds tend to increase tenfold with every visit. And Milwaukee (or as the Native Americans pronounce it, Millawaukay) has probably the coolest looking art museum I've seen in a long time.

The drive there was relatively painless, as far as sleep deprivation goes. We spent the whole night not sleeping, as children as silly as us tend to do. We left at a (not so) bright and early 4 a.m., and were able to catch the Wisconsin sunrise, which strangely looks better there than here. We spent the rest of the morning chatting, until we arrived at Madison. This must have been around 9 a.m. We did not eat breakfast in Madison. The word "eat" is not strong enough for what we did. We feasted in Madison, loosing our primal urges, reveling in the lust of it all. It was glorious.

A side note: Most old people in Wisconsin hate the young. Hate them. I learned this when they frowned upon all things fun.

We pressed on into the morning, driving ever eastward towards Milwaukee. Time, at least for me, had begun to lose all meaning. My perspective on the metaphysical began to wane, in more ways than one. We arrived in Milwaukee at about 10 a.m., but it felt much later. When we arrived at the art museum (hark! It is a thing of beauty), it already was beginning to cloud over, darkening the mid-morning sky. This further increased the feeling of having been shuffled off the time continuum. The art show, like most are, was amazing. Mark Lombardi was a tortured genius, like all artists are. Including myself.

We left the museum fairly close to noon. We sauntered up and down Brady Street, flaunting our status and power. Had I been paying more attention, I would have noticed the heads bowed in hushed reverance to our beings. Regardless, I played the amiable boyfriend character that day-- entering clothing stores, holding purses, etc. Contrary to popular belief, that was actually fun. We capped off the morning with lunch at an Alterra coffee shop, where we sat for an hour and made fun of those we deemed beneath us. We were foreigners in a strange land, but we conquered them. In spirit, anyway.

The journey back to Madison began. Erin was to meet her parents there to split off from the main group, but first, we decided to venture into the depths of State Street. State Street was an amazing sight. Literally, literally, you couldn't swing a cat without hitting some asshole highschool wrestler. It was infested. Windows were boarded up, mothers told their children horrible stories about the wrestlers, hoping to scare them into bed. We braved the sea of testosterone, ever looking forward to the next Limited or Urban Outfitters. I enjoyed my time as the psuedo-boyfriend. Practice makes perfect, and I have plenty practive being on this side of the spectrum.

Divine Retribution-R-Us: I once dragged Nique along to buy comics with me. She pretended to enjoy it. I see where the shoe drops.

Old-man Time continued to march forward, and we were finally sundered as Erin met with her father, who I must say, was quite nice. This change of pace was nice, considering that every time I meet a girl's father, he either A) is my Physical Education coach, and a bigot, B) completely opposite me in every way, or C) hates me for merely existing. Luckly enough, I usually get all three, but Erin's dad was nice. The two of us (that's Kat and me, for those keeping score at home) began the long trek home, although with slight complications. Madison is laid out in such as to prohibit weary wanderers from leaving. Eventually, after half an hour of driving around in circles, we managed to get back to the highway.

Kat slept for most of the drive back, which was nice. I enjoyed her talking to me when she was awake, but she was so tired that I didn't really want her to stay up any longer. She needed the rest. I got a lot of thinking done, about a lot of different things, and at numerous different times. The exhaustion had begun to set in at this point, requiring me to remain stalwart in my convictions to the drive. The Sandman would not go down without a fight.

We stopped at another random side town, at another Perkin's, for refreshments. Our waitress was cute and personable, which makes me regret only tipping her three dollars. Oh, what could have been, Amber from the Tomah, WI Perkin's! What could have been!

Rejuvenated, I began the final leg of our journey. Kat was fast asleep as I began, but woke up an hour out of Minnesota. I was glad, as I needed something to keep me from the ever encroaching sleep. We bantered back and forth, until finally, before long, we had arrived home.

Sleep was pounding at the door. We quickly stumbled into the building, eager to return to the warm embrace of our beds. I decided, against my better judgment, to visit Cosmo and Kelly, because I hadn't seen them in two days, which is the longest I've ever gone without them. They were watching Footloose, a movie with a magnetic pull equal to that of a black hole. How can this be, you say? Kevin Bacon is freaking badass, says I, and he has the coolest jump kick in movie history. It was worth the price of admission. I was then invited to bowl and go to Hard Times, both of which I would normally jump at the opportunity to do, although tonight was a different matter. I returned to my room.

Kat needed a place to crash for the evening, so with Peter with his parents, I obliged. She slept in Peter's bed, me in mine, and all things were right for that moment. Sleeping was cathartic, like it always tends to be.

It's now Monday. I'd say I'm completely rejuvenated, but that is not the case. I'm still in recovery, but I feel pretty good. Mike moved back in with us, so I assume my projects will either get done that much faster or never get started now. We tend to work each other pretty well, in the most heterosexual sense of the word.

A thought: I haven't seen Erin since we parted ways on Saturday. I shall rectify this on the morrow, but for now, I shall fight the Lord Shaper no longer.

An addendum

2005-02-28T00:42:00.000-06:00

I would be remiss if I didn't name-check those who I thought were interesting, and had blogs themselves. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but it seems Tessa and I do this everytime we a get a chance. We just love referring people to one another. I shall make the first move, then.

http://tessarae.blogspot.com/

All is right, then.

The Filler Issue

2005-02-28T00:07:00.000-06:00

The update to my Day Tripper entry shall come henceforth, as early as tomorrow night. Needless to say, the trip was amazing, as the company proved to be as cool in reality as they were conceptually. So, in order to provide you with something, I'm making this a filler entry. Behold, as I pull back the curtains, giving you a faint glimpse of the one, true Adam Robinson:

FIRSTS
First job: Probably dishwasher at Giovanni's. Who would have thought I'd be a shift leader?
First screen name: The worst name ever, monkey_savior
First self purchased tape: The Grateful Dead, because it had amazing cover art.
First enemy: Christopher Penny, elementary school
First big trip: Probably the move to Alaska from Maine, circa 1989.
First concert: The Violent Femmes
First relationship: Amanda... something.
First pet: Tie, between the cat Cocoa and the frog Bernardo.

LASTS
Last big car ride: Wisconsin mark II
Last kiss: New Year's Ever, Krystle Hazel. I told you I'd drop your name.
Library book checked out: Strangers in Paradise
Last movie seen: Million Dollar Baby
Last beverage drank: water
Food consumed: Some gross-ass Jalapeno chips.
Last phone call: Trevor Burks, y'all.
Last cd played: Pavement's Slanted and Enchanted
Last annoyance: High school kids in Madison, WI.
Last soda drank: Sprite? I don't know.
Last ice cream eaten: Gross UDS shit.
Last time scolded: From Kelly, by the elevators.
Last shirt worn: My bitching green Led Zep shirt.
Last website visited: Pop Culture Shock
Last relationship: The Shayla.

I'S
I am: a scared little kid at heart
I want: Whatever you want
I have: a need to impress people using big words
I wish: for something.
I hate: the color red everywhere. I cannot escape its power!
I hope: things never go according to plan
I hear: things, from time to time
I search: for El Dorado.
I regret: too many things
I love: sunrises
I always: procrastinate like it's going out of style
I dance: as a mating call. I remain unsuccessful
I cry: like most normal, operation human beings
I am not always: harboring ulterior motives
I write: because I am
I win: some things.
I lose: all sense of time
I confuse: more girls than I'd like
I need: more time
I should: Never do another filler again

YES OR NO
You keep a diary: Journal, but semantics aside, yes.
You like to cook: Love to cook.
You have a secret you have not shared with anyone: My closet houses its fair share of skeletons.

DO YOU
Want to get married?: Yes, to the right person
Get motion sickness?: On occasion
Get along with your parents?: Our relationship is tenuous.
Like thunderstorms?: Used to be deathly afraid of them. Now, they're but a minor annoyance.

THE BASICS
Current hair color: An amalgamation of black and brown
Birthplace: Caribou, ME
Birth Date: November 26, 1985

FAVORITES
Number: 13
Color: green
Day: Wednesday
Month: October
Song: I am a Tree, Guided by Voices
Season: Autumn
Drink: Water
Sport: Baseball
Animal: Octopi

PREFERENCES
Cuddle or make out: A little from Column A, a little from Column B...
Chocolate milk or hot chocolate: Milk
Milk, Dark, or White chocolate: milk
Vanilla or chocolate: vanilla

IN THE LAST 24 HOURS, HAVE YOU?
Cried? No.
Bought something? Yes, I have. A CD.
Gotten sick? Certainly felt like it.
Gone to the movies? No, unfortunately
Gone out for dinner? Oh yes
Said I love you? Yes, and meant it.
Written a real letter? Yes.
Talked to an ex? No
Missed an ex? More than I'd like to admit
Written in a journal? I'm always doing that.
Had a serious talk? How can you not around Kat and Erin?
Missed someone? You always miss people
Hugged someone? Yes
Fought with your parents? Nope
Fought with a friend? Nope.

WOULD YOU EVER
Eat a bug: Hello? Grade school?
Bungee jump: I'd love to
Lose it: On a daily basis. It's pretty well lost.
Parachute from a plane: Oh yeah
Walk on hot coals: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Be a vegetarian: Been one for about a year and half now. Enjoying it thoroughly.
Wear plaid with stripes: Is that not cool or something?
Sing karaoke: Love Shack by R.E.M. has been torn to pieces by me.
Shoplift: I think I have before
Run a red light: No robot determines my fate
Dye your hair blue: In a second, if you had the dye
Be on survivor: Sure
Cheat on a test: Never
Make someone cry: Not if I could help it.

See? That was intolerable! Shame on you if you enjoyed that to one of my random tangents! A pox on your house, a pox!

Well, Ich muss ein Duetsch paper schreiben. Paper has a word in German, but damn if I can remember it. Anywho, good morrow.

Day Tripper

2005-02-25T23:53:00.000-06:00

In more than five but less than four hours, I will be again embarking on another quest deep into the heart of Wisconsin, the "Dark State." Accompanying me are faithful stalwarts Erin and Kat. The former is great in a knife fight, the later knows enough basic herbology to survive in the woods for years.

I'm still convinced we won't make it back. Tell my family I love them.

Veridis Quo

2005-02-25T02:17:00.000-06:00

2:23 a.m. Minneapolis. The city that never sleeps. Although the cliche doesn't apply, the accuracy cannot be argued. No one relaxes for five minutes around here. Just crazy, crazy, crazy, all the time, until they pass out from exhaustation. Never one to complain, I revel in the opportunity to poke people with sticks. You just don't do that enough anymore.

I won't Bendis you with the names of every arc I plan to do, but I will say that I have the first year of college planned out, and it promises to shock and delight. Like me. But with delight. We're talking about Extra Credit here, for those just joining. Also, 10-hit Combo is coming along nicely, with some totally bitching photos of myself and Burky T. I'll eventually link to them, when they are up in full, but until then, rest assured that they rule; they are better than anything you could ever hope to do in your life, you worthless piece of crap.

Seriously though, I love the view from my room. Most of Minneapolis is sprawled at my feet, as peaceful as it will be, waiting patiently for the sun to rise and greet them. The lights flicker and fade, and for the most part, things are nice. The comfortable silence is broken by ambulance sirens. I sigh, and return to writing.

Subconsciously, somewhere, I feel as if I'm being led to continue my discussion of perfect moments. Compelled. I am compelled to continue our (my) discussion, because right now, it feels right.

If I recall correctly (and while I most likely don't, bear with me a moment), my last lecture spoke to the topic of moment creation, if such a thing exists. I am of the school that perfect things happen, much like all other good things do: love, life, inspiration. Whether or not they happen for a reason is meta-physical discussion far beyond what I'm talking about here. A better question: what am I talking about?

Memory. The enemy of age, the companion of melancholy. Not all memories are bad; in fact, that's far from the truth. But memories have a habit, and a bad one at that, of reminding of us of simpler times, of happier times. Times when things just worked out regardless of our actions. We are forever cursed to recall times far more grand than the current, and we are forever wanting to recreate those moments. The simple fact of the matter is that we cannot. This is a revelation that has come to me in a manner not so pleasant. An example: relationships. People grow up, and in turn, grow apart. Love is not static, as much as we would fight it. As the sea changes, so too must ourselves, and in turn, love. Those you consider your best friends will be forever different tomorrow than they were today, and yesterday is but distant memory of times oft-remembered and long sought after.

We cannot return to such high plateaus. Indeed, that would not be fair to ourselves. Instead, what must be done is a drive towards new moments, new epochs in time to be remembered. To turn back time and relive favored moments is impossible. But to live for the perfect ones left, that is wholly possible.

Hark! I do think we've just seen a tangent. My thought pattern operates on a level far removed from reality. It's part of my charm, I think. Regardless, no more silly musings! Perhaps one day I'll talk at length about my other fears, among which time, certain members of the opposite sex, and Billy Joel are legion.

"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due."

Tiny Little Fractures

2005-02-23T00:48:00.000-06:00

Projects just keep popping up around me, as if I had nothing better to do. Case in point: The newest, hippest website devoted to pop-culture (and the ensuing horror it breeds), 10-hit Combo, is currently in development. Helmed by (you guessed it) myself and Burky T, 10-hit Combo promises reviews of all things books, music, movies, television, comics, videogames... I could go on. My job is one of staff writer, where I basically just write about things that I like/don't like about what's going on. And, I get yet another blog, tentatively titled C-C-C-C-Combo Breaker!, in which even more random thoughts are going to be posted for the world to see. 'Twas a sad day, the day I became an internet celebrity.

Regardless, I won't be revealing the new URL for the website yet. Right now, we're doing what we like to call "dry runs." Basically, Burky T is designing most of the graphics, the layout, etc. You know, the hard stuff. I'm writing up a series of "first look" articles for numerous different things, determining artistic direction, etc. You know, superficial, easy shit. Alas, this is my lot in life. I'm carried on the backs of others, much to my own dismay. Ah, I'm just kidding with you. I'm not dismayed about it.

As if in a dream, I can look forward and see my future, laid out delicately on a stained-glass window. And, as if in a dream, I watch with horror as my current amount of "extra-curriculars" begin to dominate more and more of time, thusly dropping an anvil through said stained-glass window. As my future shatters, I notice the glass has pretty colors.

I got started early tonight, meaning I might actually get to bed before 3 A.M. I should be so lucky, as sleep has been a rare commodity as of late, as the Sandman has been holding out on me. It's not entirely his fault, though, as random bursts of inspirado will strike, forcing me to forego all logic and stay up all night, scribbling furiously, writing down ideas like a mad man. Actually, that's pretty accurate. The mad man part, that is.

My favorite part of crafting stories is my ability to become Lord Shaper for a moment. Creating characters is an exhilirating process, one that fuels my God complex. To be specific, I have crafted a serious villain for Extra Credit, a story focusing on a college freshman becoming one of the world's first superheroes. His name is Seymour, and he is much different from the wacky villains that Warren, our hero, faces. A brotherhood of mystical frat boys he ain't.

On a related note, you might see Warren, the main character of Extra Credit, appearing in the upcoming Life: Is This It?, starring his room mate, Roderick Parker. If you haven't noticed, nearly everything I write has continuity with everything else I write. It's a painstaking chore, but it creates a semblance of cohesion among the numerous stories I have to tell. Will we be seeing Warren in J.C. Cash? Potentially. Most people go to college for four years, you know... It's conceivable that he'll show up eventually. Rocky, however, has his own story, and will probably never see him again. You know what they say: Dead is dead. Except in comics. Rocky is a character that has been resonating with those who've seen the preliminary scripts, most notably Mike. Could this be because he's nearly a carbon copy of myself? Who knows...

I venture slowly into the darkness this evening. I'm having such a good time talking to you, and now you can talk to me! Thank god the comments feature of Blogger has been updating, allowing those without blogger IDs to post comments. It's open season, baby! Those in the CoD will be pleased, as will Burky T. Feel free to say what you will, then.

My last comment for the evening: I'm the epitome of public enemy. I sometimes feel compelled to mess with people, especially when they mess with other people. It doesn't just have to be me, suckas. I look out for my peeps, or just general injustice. Vigilante, that's what they call me.

Conduit, and perhaps more, for sale!

2005-02-22T01:58:00.000-06:00

You can hardly steal a glance at a particularly cute girl without someone noticing anymore. It's just inconvenient, especially to someone such as I, who puts a high price on keeping personal things hidden. In all truth, though, it's kind of nice. Perhaps all those barriers tough-guy Adam erects are tumbling down. I'm really not all rough-and-tumble. For you, baby, I'll be whatever!

What's that? Can't you hear it? 'Tis the Gossip Train, and it doth rolleth through town. I can't divulge any details of my conversations with my "partners in crime," as it were. Needless to say, I know a lot more than I should, and I infer a lot more than is necessary. Crafting an intricate web of lies and rumors, one so gigantic in nature as to catch passing buffalo, is a hobby of mine. I never vindictively do so, as that's just evil beyond my bounds (ha ha! We laugh at this.). My art is one done with language: The paper is the easel, the brush my pen, and the colors are my imagination. But if my art has a specific subject in mind (such as, say, two close friends with the same name kissing), I let the beast run wild. You cannot contain your inner-most urges, especially ones so inherently fun.

My writing has been increasing in both amount and quality; so much so, in fact, that long-time collaborator Mike Thole has enlisted my services once again as a creative force behind our long-shelved play. Originally planned to be debuted at Central Lakes College theatre, starring none other than myself and Mr. Thole in the main roles, The Gospel According to Christ was the true story of one Jesus Christ, and his final moments on earth. Think you learned everything you needed to know about the Crucifixion in The Passion? Guess again, asshat! Did you know Jesus wasn't crucified, it was the apostle Paul, as punishment for pissing on a statue of Roman soldiers? Did you know Jesus listened to the Eagles? All this, and so much more, are covered in the true story of the Son of Man.

It should be given some backstory, then. One does not simply mention a play in creation that has possibility of excommunicating its creators from the Chruch without a little context. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and come with me on a journey down memory lane. You see, The Gospel grew out of another series of ideas I had for stories about Christ, most of which were destined for the scrap heap. Jesus was once a punk rocker, who went to earth in order to get a bitchin' snake tattoo. Or, Jesus never really left the house much, he just sat around and played videogames and ate Cheetos like a buttertroll. Most of these half-concepts found their way into a single, cohesive idea pattern that emerged as The Gospel.

It should also be noted that this play, a full-length two act behemoth of comedy, drama, and (dare I say it?) love, is the precursor for yet another comic in development: Edward Christ. This is a book designed with certain artists in mind (namely, one Tyler Huss, who desperately needs a shower), and covered the idea of God creating the universe, leaving, and then coming back when he realizes that earth fucking sucks. The people need a leader, so he divinely impregnates a 14-year-old girl, and in two months Edward is born. Edward is actually the soul of recently deceased Edward Burrows, an accountant who died tragically in a calculator accident. The story hits all the points you'd like it to: Softball games, paternity lawsuits, drunken Norse gods. Average fare, really.

The more you analyze things; the more you search for the bad, the more you realize things just seem to work out. It's amazing how much trouble one can get oneself into, if one tries hard enough. Equally amazing is the amount of trouble one can get oneself out of, if one believes that things will simply just work out.

I'll leave you with that for the night.

Temporal Physics, Missed Opportunities, and Cough Drops

2005-02-21T02:08:00.000-06:00

Strange as it may seem, the Back to the Future series of movies have consistently been the source of massive amounts of conversation relating to all things metaphysical-- time travel, alternate dimensions, God, you name it. If time did indeed exsist on a "straight line," and our actions at any one point could affect the entire timeline on a massive scale, well, we're totally boned. I've done some crazy stupid stuff.

A random thought: I love American English. It's one of the only dialects of English that allows you to modify the degree of something by adding "so." Today was, like, so awesome.

As I enjoyed the wonders of Michael J. Fox (and to a lesser extent, Billy Zane, of whom I a big fan for some reason), it appears as if Pete and I had numerous arrivals from friends of old. To miss out on something like this, especially when a main reason they came down to the Twin Cities area was for me, makes me feel ever so heelish. It was not my intention to watch all three Back to the Future movies. Then again, it never really is, is it?

Frostman comes and goes as he wishes, never stopping to think of the repercussions of his actions. His actions, in this case, have been to leave me at the onset of a particularly mellow cold, nothing that bad. Unfortunately, as is the case with colds (and I'm interested in whether or not "colds" have a more... scientific name? Anyone?), this leaves me in a situation where my throat has mutinied against my respiratory functions, and will only abate the pain at the sight of sweet, sweet citrus. Vitamin C drops. A marvel of modern medicine!

Good news on many fronts, this evening: Erin will be joining Kat and I on our weekend excursion to the wilderness of Wisconsin. This is good news, as I'll be spending time with two of the most eclectic, interesting people currently in my life. Sara's getting her belly-button pierced, something I'd usually be indifferent to, but any news from her is good news. As far as bad news is concerned, Hunter S. Thompson is dead. Another of my influences, gone to the wayside. He shall be missed.

For those interested in the business end, Death: On the Road has been renamed Life: Is This It?, a more fitting and, dare I say, upbeat title. The story isn't as much about Death as it is about life.

If anyone asks, I hate Ben Affleck. You know who you are.

Dreamer's Ball

2005-02-19T16:31:00.000-06:00

Haven't slept in a while. Haven't slept in a while. I spent all of the last two days working three comics. All in all, last night saw the creation of 20 odd pages of dialogue, action, and dare I say it, fun that wouldn't have happened unless I was nearly forced to do it. It felt good. It was good to sit down and accomplish more in a single night that a lot of other people do.

The two projects that saw the most attention last night were Joshua and the Tiki and Death: On the Road, two pet projects that have been gestating in the minds of Mike and I, respectively. The actual writing aspect of making a funnybook is more complicated than it initially seems, as the fain factor that impeeds process is "writer's block." That's actually a phenomenon that doesn't exist, as it's basically another term for "videogames." Brian K. Vaughan was right! That's the best analogy applicable to the situation.

Regardless, what I don't have no is any form of distraction around me. My eyes, proverbially, are the prize, proverbially. And the other ideas I have floating around, J.C. Cash, Floor Life, and Extra Credit are in heavy development, with J.C. leading the way. It's an idea I have been caring for since infancy, I supported it through adolescence, and will work jointly with it in adulthood.

I shall return later with more good news, probably this evening.

A Secret Knowledge of Backroads

2005-02-18T00:40:00.000-06:00

I'm constantly wondering how the creative process operates in places like Hollywood. This is the same place that gives us Citizen Kane, Battleship Potempkin, and Chinatown. As a film geek, these movies have hugely impacted my tastes. And then, and then, we get certain ideas such as this, that defy all logic. Scroll down to the bottom, and read the last picture and paragraph. It's enough to make me want to kill a man. Specifically, the Rock.

What the fuck kind of name is that? Apparently, this is just conjecture at this point in time, but there are a few... nits I have to pick with this... prospective casting ideas. Notice my exaggerated use of italics, something I believe is wholly warranted in this situation. I can't accurately depict the sarcasm with which I say this. Let me just say this, and then move on: we, as a society, need help.

No update over the last day, and that's because I had nothing to say. I sat down, wrote a few paragraphs, did a word count, realized that I wrote about 400 words and didn't actually say anything. Edit, Select All, Delete. Wizardry! It's amazing what we're able to do with computers these days. Just remember to treat your computer with respect, because the robots have ways of finding this out. I've said to much!

Abe Vigoda is currently alive. This is splendid.

Once, I spun a yarn not to long ago about the blithery Frostman, a being who exists for the sole purpose of making walking from point A to point B pure misery. Perhaps he heard me say his name three times, for he has henceforth returned for the foreseeable future. The word "for" appeared three times in the previous sentence, and I have half a mind to return to it, rewrite it, and make it four, because I'm kind of a dick that way.

Let me be blunt for a second: The whole fucking college system is broken beyond repair. No, the whole fucking school system is broken. We don't really learn anything worth knowing during the first 22 years or so of our lives. We learn algebra (perhaps calculus, or calculus with two variables, and so on, if you're smart), we might scim a few books (or just watch the movie), and if we're extremely lucky, we'll learn a foreign language. We won't learn anything about our own native English language, save maybe what a fucking verb is.

Here's what we don't learn: How to deal with the death of a loved one, how to not be afraid of being alone, how to deal with heartbreak, how to love someone, how to live. When they make a fucking college class that prepares you for something more than making copies or entering numbers on a calculator all day, I'll sign up.

With each passing day, my want to be here to "learn" decreases exponentially. I'll stay the course, because I've done this student thing so long that I don't know what else I'd do otherwise.
"Work, wander. Rest when I can."

I still have that. I still have that.

Felt Good to Burn

2005-02-16T00:55:00.000-06:00

Fact: The world is large, and it would take a considerable amount of time to walk from point A to point B, if they were sufficiently far apart. To those with stolen cars, this laugh is for you, as I find it ironic. Beyond that, we don't even need autos anyway. Walking is more healthy, and much more scenic. It's the feeling you get.

Time passes, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. Some say there are those who live outside the current timeline, and can determine their own flow of time. Such freedom! I am immediately drawn to the idea, but at the same time, I am drawn to the idea of a time limit on such things; mayhaps you will enjoy the experiences you do have when you know there's not enough time to do everything?

Thoughts like these, and countless others, occupy my dreamspace. I get the feeling that the Lord Shaper, the One Who Makes Dreams, is trying to tell me something. These feelings were compounded with recent conversations with Erin and Laura, both of whom non-verbally confirmed my sentiments: college is an unnecessary activity. For most of my mindset, which encompasses a precious minority, this comes as no surprise. But there is a single question that my friends and contemporaries ponder: When do we really get to start living?

The simple answer: You don't. We're born and bred in a system that strongly disapproves of individuality and promotes conformity. Look at the state of affairs! Those who try to break out of the mold do so by purchasing goods at Hot Topic. Suicide is their only option, if that's how low they've sunk.

Here's a fun story: Bill Gates was reportedly accused of blackmailing Denmark. Denmark the country. He must be stopped! I sometimes joke about the Council of Seven (no jokes, masters!) and how they control world events deep beneath the surface of the earth, but come on. This is just asinine. Funny, but asinine. I aspire to one day be able to strong arm a small European country into doing my bidding. One day...

My thoughts are a gas this evening. So much to think about, so much to ponder. So much to do. Lifelong goals come to fruition in the coming weeks. Stay tuned...?

Under my Voodoo

2005-02-15T02:10:00.000-06:00

I was confused. For if I was dead, how and why did I die?

I love that song. That fucking song. It rules. I was determined not to mention Valentine's day again, especially today, because, you know, it's today. But here's the thing: I'm the person people come to for some sort of emotional stability; a pillar with which to gain support, if you will. I enjoy my post, my psuedo-position in life. I'm like Kwai Chang Kain-- "I'll wander the countryside, helping those in need. I'll work, wander. Rest when I can."

I worry though, sometimes to the point of where I actually vocalize such feelings ("I'm worried about you!" he says aloud, to no one in particular). My perogative is to keep my own feelings internalized, because it's safer for me that way. I can open up to a precious few people, so I appreciate the fact that people... trust me enough?... to come to me for advice. On a day such as this, my services are in high demand.

I won't give out details of the conversations I had, and this certainly isn't a form of bragging or anything, but I dissuaded someone from suicide, mended a relationship that was on the rocks, and ended a particularly bad relationship for two people. This goes against my exterior look of "Hey, get a job you hippie, and stop bothering me," but I do what must be done. The woes of my life.

The life lessons learned this hallowed evening-- such as my porn star name, what gay 80s cartoon character I am, etc.-- came at the expense of, you know, talking to girls or something. And what is this? Is this the butterflies in my stomach fluttering around? Could DM2, a person normally so cynical and sarcastic as to disregard human emotion, actually have a crush on a girl? Why yes, that is a distinct possibility. My love life has been invigorated as of late, ever since that fateful encounter with Beth at Hard Times. I regret, with every fiber of my being, not reintroducing myself. She was a great person, and someone I'd like to reconnect with on a general basis. She's not the proverbial "apple of my eye," as the cool kids say.

To those who spent Valentine's Day alone, or shopping at a mall, or whatever, it is to you I say this: Perk up, trooper. It's not as bad as you think. Someone out there is thinking of you.

How touchy-feely. Don't fear the Tiki gods, they're not as bad as they seem. You'll thank me for that bit of advice later on.

The Unmade Bed

2005-02-14T00:55:00.000-06:00

Rain turns to snow, spring reverts back to winter, and people seem glad about it. These are the norms for lovely Minneapolis, where meteorology and common sense be damned for the greater love of ice fishing. A love that seems odd to me, and most other people who, you know, are fucking sane.

Certain events, not unlike those that occurred tonight, tend to make one feel timeless. Events that, while some may say they are simply childish, appeal to the base wants and desires of the soul. Making dopey Shrek and Spiderman valentines is one of those things that make everything else seem small in comparison. I was nine tonight, laughing and living in the sandbox of the mind. It was a refreshing series of events.

Just got done reading two of the better valentines I received this year. I learned two things: The same rules still apply (no exceptions.), and the clit is apparently mine to command. A good laugh was shared by all, although Peter found them to be quite offensive. Ha, ha, as they say.

A weekend supposedly dedicated to educational endeavors (i.e. homework) ended up being about casinos, the clit, fat chicks, and missed opportunities. I'm more fulfilled with the weekend I did have than what could have been. It's like this, folks: You can plan and plan, but you have just let life happen. It's simple, really.

So, barring any more unforeseen complications, the comic goes ahead full-steam tomorrow night. This may or may not inhibit any ramblings I scrawl on this wall we seem to share, but I sincerely doubt it. Readership is increasing! I've gotten good feedback from the gents at the CoD, and I wouldn't want to disappoint.

Megan and bEv, two people who I thought could withstand my constant interferences, have been confirmed to have split up. I feel as though this is my fault, although it isn't, because nothing I could do or say (even when Mike and I jokingly tried to separate them earlier) could break them up. Unfortunately, time and distance were the culprits, and they are still at large. Perhaps when we can time Father Time love with bend at our every whim. That doesn't sound like much fun to me.

Appears that surf's down, by my watch. Must be time for me head off to Dream's Edge, as they call it in legend. Perhaps someday yarns and tales will be woven about our time together? Something to head off with into the night, I suppose.

That was it, I think you missed it.

Disengage the Simulator

2005-02-13T02:57:00.000-06:00

Normally, my tired and incoherent ramblings are updated on a psuedo-daily basis, but technical difficulties prohibited me from writing yesterday. All this does is make more work for me, because now I have to sum up two days in one entry. How ghastly! I shall attempt this, for your sake.

First and foremost, tonight: I am having a hard time spelling for some reason. My fingers are moving faster than the synapses are firing. This is no good, but I shall work around it.

Friday, bEv came over, as he is prone to do on Fridays, because Friday is comic day. Wednesday is my insanely busy school day, so I usually have bEv drive me on Fridays to go pick up my books. So, to thank him, I bought the two of us some bagels. Between then and now, I've eaten about 7 bagels. All major meals have consisted of bagels. Bagels, bagels, bagels. No more bagels.

Questing is fun, especially when your quest comes to a sufficient conclusion. Trying to track down Mike, who generally doesn't want to be found, is a quest that is a continual cycle of failure. Breaking into his apartment building wasn't enough to make him show himself, so we decided to head down to lovely Chanhassen, where Nique lives. We spent most of the night either lost or at a casino, and neither was overly pleasurable. I'm fairly hard to please that way.

Living in a large, metropolitan area (such as, say, the Twin Cities) tends to breed odd moments. Differences in genetic coding are plentiful, yet subtle. This makes people seem familiar to those you may have known previously. You can already draw the obvious conclusion as to what happened tonight, so I'll spare you the hilariously awkward details.

The end of days; that dark, black night that we surrender to every evening, this is when I tend to get most of my thinking done. There's an indescribable serenity of the night that makes it decidedly easier for me to imagine in.

Valentine's Day fast approaches. My "valentine," and I use that word loosely, as we haven't seen each other in over 7 months, plan to celebrate this momentous occasion the same way we always do: by pretending it doesn't happen. Oh, joy! I'd ask the next person I see, if I weren't so damn nervous about it. That's right, me. Nervous. Paradox indeed, with me being one of the most social people I know. And I know people. But with Valentine's Day being such a symbolic holiday, one that holds such importance, I don't really want to fuck anything up. I'm putting this one on ladies. I'm sick of doing all the heavy lifting!

I have nothing left to say tonight.

The Inner Light, and other tales

2005-02-11T02:42:00.000-06:00

Sometimes it's impossible to plan for perfect moments; in fact, those particular beasts tend to show themselves only when they desire to be seen. I just had a perfect moment. A completely personal, perfect moment. I sat down to write and the perfect song for imagining started to play. Art is not created, it exists. Such is my story.

Finally, after a long and perilious journey, I have finally "wrestled enough bears" to be sane once more. No more "sharpening my knives" or anything of that caliber. I'm free from my emasculating shackles. I am whole. In layman's, I've finally caught up on the O.C. Laugh if you must (surely, you must!), but I enjoy a certain degree of vice in my life. At least I pick teen soap operas and not, you know, methamphetamines.

Regardless of the slight tangent above, I'm feeling especially nostalgic this evening. My talk of perfect moments, of which there are many in life, comes at a time when perfect moments tend to make themselves apparent. I am, of course, referencing that bane of holidays, the single kid's worst nightmare personified-- St. Valentine's Day. The hooplah surrounding this particular day, one that has a certain significance for those who are in love or red/green color blind, is a phenomenon that I simply don't understand. What is so terrible about it? A common complaint: created for consumer purposes. Counter-point: Christmas.

Hopefully I've laid that criticism to rest, but the real complaint people have, however unwilling they are to admit it, is being alone on a day that beatifies couples. Singles abhor this day, slinging to and fro venom of the highest degree, hoping to ruin the fun for all those who have a significant other.

Being a single, I'm not going to do that. Those who have a special someone, rejoice! Free yourself from the fetters of petty consumerism and the animosity of those less-fortunate! Enjoy this day in the manner it was meant to be enjoyed: with the one you love.

But if you do it in front of me, you're fucking toast. Alas, the trappings of singularity are too much for me. Cosmo sent me this essay about nice guys-- you know, like me-- and how we just get the shaft. Subscribe to this theory I don't, but I do believe nice guys, as a whole, are greatly underappreciated.

Well, at least me.

I'm getting my annual "Valentine's Lament" out the way early this year. I missed the St. Valentine's day deadline by meer days last year, as Shayla and I got together later in this great month of February, and people like Emma and Nicole weren't exactly the most romantic people. Amy, however, is a particular relationship that has fishy details. I can't recall most things about our time together, and I feel horrible about that. Besides using this paragraph to showcase the truly major relationships in my life, I just wanted to get that factoid about the relationship I had with Amy out there. I feel bad about it. I apologize.

It's three in the morning. I have class in ten hours, and I need to do my laundry, something that's gone woefully neglected over the past couple of weeks. Stupid faulty UCards!

The best part about my day today occured in a small, insignificant german class on the east bank of campus. Humor about definite and indefinite clauses has a certain charm, one which I'll never be able to fully pass along to you, true believers!

Good morrow.

Tiki gods and fashion stars

2005-02-10T01:49:00.000-06:00

Serendipity. Fate. Call it what you will, but I have never actually believed in the phenomenon. Predestination is a scary idea, what with not having any choice in your life. When it comes to making those life altering decisions, of which in life there are many, I have made perhaps two. I'm just not ready for responsibility, so I happily (and sometimes unhappily) defer to someone else. The facts of life, as they say. But my talk of fate comes with somewhat of an upside, at least for me.

I'm going to fucking do this comic book idea. I have yet to share it with you, or for that matter, anyone, what with the tricky situation that is copyright laws. Mike and I--admittedly, mostly Mike, whom I miss dearly-- has come up with an idea of the utmost... enormity that I simply cannot stand aside and let this project pass me by. If you are familiar with my work (which you're not) or Mike's (which again, you're not), you know that our ideas graze the fine line between sanity and lucidity; broaching non-sensical yet grounded firmly in reality. The question is not one of what message we are trying to send, but what message you want to receive. Working with Mike, something I haven't done since we wrote up short scripts and I used to do panels for him. Layout, motherfucker. And I used to be good at that shit, too. You see, there are worlds within me unknown (insert fat joke here), and I'm determined to show them to the world, in some medium or another. I haven't discussed my movie ideas yet.

That was a rather long-winded diatribe, but hey, I'm fucking giddy here. I haven't had a good, old-fashioned reason to be creative in a while. I mean, when you suck at ping-pong, you take what you can get.

Missed an opportunity of such supreme golden sheen that I feel like a douche bag. I was going to go to the local cafe (the word "cafe" lacks the poetic momentum a linguaphile such as I desire without the delectable little accent mark. Tools can be the subtlest of traps, as they say) with two of my dear friends, Kat and Erin, the latter I've only know for about a week and half. Quality over quantity, people. I missed my chance; that ship has sailed. Now I return to the deep melancholy of my normal life.

Ha, almost got you there, ass. Melancholy, or any other shade of blue, is a color long forgotten to me. Hell, I've barely had a feeling for a long time. Yeah, I don't know what that means.

I love how the eloquence with which I write decreases as I consistently lose interest in what I have to say. I'm my biggest fan, checking my own blog two or three times a day, just to make sure that what I've said has actually stuck-- not in the technological sense, such as making sure the daily post is up; it's more along the lines of seeing if what I've said is actually there. I'm saying, for the most part, something that's never been said before. I craft art. Ill-tempered and profane art, but art nonetheless.

I once mused keeping a steady form to my rantings and ravings I freely, at no charge to you, publish on this "interweb," but being constricted by a set of rules just isn't my style. Which is interesting, considering that my style is composed entirely of things that aren't my style. A delicious web of intrigue I have woven.

Is anyone, besides me, reading this far? Hell, I don't read what I write/post, because that's just plain silly, vain, and douche-tastic. I don't write for myself. Those that read this (yes, all twenty of you), this is a gift for you. For your use. Fucking enjoy it. This isn't for me. I get feedback every now and then about what I write, mostly through the pains of instant messaging systems. Person-to-person relations are so 1980s. Get a life.

I still have to do my laundry. I'll just kick it for another hour, then head down and do it. I'll bring my German homework and finally get some stuff done. Being sick takes a lot out of a person. I'll check in for a night cap before I head off to bed, as they say. The Sandman shall wait that much longer to take me.

No More Kings

2005-02-09T01:44:00.000-06:00

Here's a quick kick-off comment that shakes me to my very core: Chicken in a Biscuit, the cracker, is made with real chicken. What is that? Is there not enough chicken readily available that we invent what amounts to chicken bread? This probably only astounds and confuses me, so I'll just go ahead and move on to something a little more pertinent.

I went to something tonight called-- and I'm not making this up-- a Sex Carnival. Preconceptions will not prepare you for the horror of the Sex Carnival. I think I've officially found my kryptonite. To say that I enjoyed being at the Sex Carnival would be an accurate assessment, but to say that it wasn't, you know, awkward as hell would be just plain wrong. I played a game which involved me putting on a latex glove on one hand, a condom on the other, and using any sort of "lubrication" (a word I use very loosely, since the lubrications on hand included canned cheese, mayonnaise, hot fudge, and my drug of choice, peanut butter), rub like the dickens in order to make the condom break. He who breaks fastest wins. Kelly won, picking the hot fudge, but I was close second, my engines fired by a peanut butter and crank. Well, not so much crank as more peanut butter, but yeah.

I should probably preface this with a statement saying that this carnival of horrors was to promote safe sex. So, trying to find the most viscous substance to use as lubrication to break a condom seems, and I might be off-base here, fucking insane. But don't worry! My humiliating experience just got worse when we played Pictionary. Sex Pictionary, that is.

With a group of close friends, all possessing open minds, this game could actually be quite the laugh riot, with real, hearty, diaphragmatic laughs. When you play this game with six strangers, and have to quickly draw the best representation of (and these really came up) a golden shower, the dirty Sanchez, and beastiality, it becomes quite awkward. Humorously enough, you'd think this is a game Cosmo, Steph, and I would completely own at, but man, if we didn't get spanked by some sorority looking girls. I guess that sort of makes sense, in a way.

My favorite moment of the whole night came from the game of pictionary, though. I was trying to draw my representation of a golden shower, to no avail. In fact, both teams were struggling to wrap their minds around the hieroglyphics being scribbled furiously the wall. Suddenly, a booming voice rang out across the confused murmuring, shouting unto the heavens and all the earth, "It's a GOLDEN SHOWER." Some creepy looking dude totally nailed it. It was weird at the moment, now it's just funny.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to sharpen my knives. And wrestle bears. So on and so forth, as they say...

The Golden Age

2005-02-08T01:35:00.000-06:00

Pete bought some Silk brand chocolate soy milk today. There's no way we could drink the whole thing, even between the two of us. So, I did the only logical thing: I built a refrigerator. Yeah, it basically amounts to an open window and the cold Minnesota winter, but hey, it was pretty genius at the time. I felt like I solved the cancer riddle. But with soy milk.

I had a really big urge to read the Giving Tree today. Shel Silverstein is pretty fucking awesome. I listen to a lot of Guided By Voices, and one of my favorite songs of theirs reminds me of the Giving Tree. This story has no point; please return to your everyday lives.

My new printer that I was talking about? Works like a charm. Which is certainly a pleasant surprise. Perhaps now my superpowers can be something related to my devil-may-care hair and roguish good looks. See? That's the comedy part of this thing. It's funny.

I watched a lot of the O.C. today for some reason. It's totally popular among girls, which is delightful. It means they want to watch it, and I can supply it. Supply and demand. Supply, demand. It just makes sense, people. If I were to think hard enough (which is fairly rare), I could see the argument for me being totally emasculated by watching this show. But, you know what? That's fairly out of character. At least for me. I'm a scoundrel. I'll do what I have to do to get things accomplished. You know what things are, you rascal!

Still haven't been doing a whole lot of the sleeping thing. I had a pretty bad migraine today, so I didn't get much done, but I've always thought sleeping is overrated. Sleep deprivation is where I get my good ideas and have really lucid dreams about being a nuclear-physicist from Mexico. It's a long, fever-induced story, and maybe one day I shall regal you. Not today.

And the brightest part of my day? My printer box is the perfect size for holding comics. How grand! I can now keep them inconspicuously away from sight, so as not to scare away potential Backstage Betties.

Frostman

2005-02-07T01:51:00.000-06:00

Winter has returned to the Twin Cities area. A few days of 40 degree weather have the potential to spoil anyone, but it hasn't really ruined my fucking day. I'm still running strong. It's cold outside, though. Damn cold.

I don't know, because I'm not really into the whole sports thing, but I guess the New England Patriots have won the Superbowl again. This is okay to me, being from the New England area (I was born there... or so they say.), so I was at least urged to make the annual "Meh!" when the Pats win. Seriously though folks, football is a lame-ass sport. Just does not entertain me in the least. Instead of watching the S-Bowl, Bev, Pete, and I took a trip to buy my third printer in as many weeks. My affinty for picking faulty electronics has taken on insane proporations. It's a goddamn mutation now. I can't not buy a shitty piece of shit. Should I ever be called upon to protect the city, I shall do so by encouraging thieves and criminals to purchase any sort of electronic device, in the hopes that they will break. And a good percentage of the time, they will.

Listening to a lot of comedy albums and shit like that recently-- more specifically, David Cross and George Carlin. I love Carlin, I have all his books and downloaded all his stand-up, but David Cross is insanely funny. Yeah, Mr. Show is awesome, but his stand-up is just out of this world crazy. Although I do feel a little bad blasting the Cross out there, because he kind of picks on Jesus a lot-- and rightfully so; question authority-- but hey, I do live with Pete, and my lack of conscious notwithstanding, I still feel bad when he thinks he needs to leave the room when I laugh at it. Man, these Christians. Just will not get it, will they? I kid, I kid.

It's one in the morning, I've had six hours of sleep in the last three days. The lack of sleep is going to kill me before long; of this I am certain. Regardless, class begins bright and early at 9:45. I must be prepared for this. Good morrow.

Brunt Bertney, Certified Public Accountant

2005-02-04T01:15:00.000-06:00

I have a convoluted history with singing, animatronic, fake animals. Once, I had a chicken that predictably sang the Chicken Dance song. But this god damned thing wouldn't shut up-- once you pressed that button, it was going to sing until one of us passed out, and usually, it was me. This is the kind of shit that I had to deal with growing up.

I have come into the possession of another.

It's this totally gross sheep that sings--and I'm serious here-- a fifteen minute yodel. It's the most ridiculous thing ever invented by man. So, my first ideas were ones of pure enmity. "Destroy it!" screamed I, wanting the fake fur and blood to stream through our dorm hall. But, Peter, ever the bright thinker, had a brilliant idea.

"Let's skin it," he mused. "Let's make it the most repulsive robot beast ever."
"We can rebuild it," I chimed in. "We can make him stronger. Better. Faster."

We got the scissors and set to work, skinning and defluffing, creating what is quite possibly the most hideous being in the existence of the world. There are girls down my hall that won't even look at it. This thing makes it hard for me to sleep. It watches me. Perhaps I'm being irrational, but you never know. It might be pissed. I suppose I don't have to say "It" anymore, what with us giving it a name (and thusly, power!) Forsake thine gods and bow to most powerful entity in the known universe:

Brunt Bertney, Certified Public Accountant.

I plan to keep it and use to scare my children into being good little boys and girls. This is probably the reason no woman will currently accept my seed. Brunt demands it!

Yes, well. Wasn't that fun. These are the kind of crazy things we do on Thursdays. I should get a job. I feel like a damn bum. I just don't want to work. Or do much of anything. I need someone to support me. I just want to sit around and write all day. I could probably do that anyway, I guess.
I may finally get a chance to see The Motercycle Diaries tomorrow, something I should have done earlier last year. I'm big on communism, communists, and latinos in general. I like to spice things up a bit. Get it? Ha, that was pretty lame.

The rigors of doing things you don't particularly want to do

2005-02-02T20:38:00.000-06:00

My immaculate wit and charm sometimes get me into trouble. See, I don't think a lot of people got the memo that everything I say (well, nigh everything) is probably a joke. Or some variation thereof. But some don't. Also, some do, and choose to ignore the fact that I've been serious perhaps twice in my life (see? That was sarcasm right there!)
To make a rather short story shorter, I have been chosen to go do some inane hall council meeting every Wednesday night for the rest of the spring semester. Do you have any idea what that's like?
I haven't even gone yet, and I'm dying here. Bored out of my mind. I'm an entertainment-precog; I can see that this going suck total ass.
Story of my freaking life.
I have no real news to report, because I haven't exactly been up things. Oh, except for the State of the Union, which sort of snuck up on me. Man, who cares anymore? We're boned. We're boned. Bend over and kiss your asses goodbye, gang, we're totally effed.

The Forevertron

2005-02-02T01:56:00.000-06:00

Took a miniature road trip last weekend to Baraboo, Wisconsin, on a complete whim. A note to those impressionable: do not just willy-nilly embark on a journey of such magnitude and expect to be back and ready the next day. We were killed. I felt gross as all hell, and that's about all I'm willing to say about that.
No it's not. I have more to say about this little excursion. We didn't just say "Baraboo or bust!" one evening and leave it at that. Oh no, that would have been to easy. This was a religious pilgrimage. We had a mission; nay, a purpose, one that would not be satiated by a simple friday night drive. The Forevertron was our goal, and we conquered it. Seeing the Forevertron, this mass of metal unlike any you've ever seen, is more akin to conquering your own inner demons.
Yeah, it wasn't exactly as dramatic as that, but if you play it up a little, throw in some big words perchance, then you have a slightly more interesting first post. That was just the introduction. Motherfucker, we haven't even begun yet.
A quick recap of news that I think is important, before I end this prematurely (the ladies can speak for this unfortunate occurance in my life): The pope was rushed to a hospital somewhere, and I hope that guy's okay. I'm not big on religion, but hey, he seems a decent enough dude. I guess. I don't know him personally.
There is nothing really to follow that with, but I'll try to adhere to a systematic formula like the one you've just read: I will tend to talk about current events that you couldn't possibly care about because they happened to me, follow that up with a little current events news with my own witty and charming commentary (trust me, it gets wittier and more funny. It fucking has too, right? This is boring as hell right now.), and a nicely written conclusion. Sometimes, just to throw things a curve ball, I may just write an editorial or two. Just to fuck with you. I know how you like it.

Peace to the grease.