This is the start of my novel, and it's a working tentative title. I think that's all I'll put up for today, and possibly for the rest of the summer. The manuscript still needs some work, but I'm having a lot of fun with it. I think the title gave it away. The main character is Daniel L. Williams, affectionately called by his friends, "The Lady Lion Killer."
Haven't figured out a back story for him beyond that, but the easiest thing for me to write would involve him doing something with technology.
Ah well, I'll get to it later.
I'm definitely not showing you all the rest, especially not now. I've given you all enough multiple posting days!!!
TDH needs time to catch up, I haven't seen his IP address in a while. :( Hope you're ok, bro!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Lips, Legs and Lies Pt5
Daniel stopped, confused. What’s wrong?
Shh, Jasmin whispered. Her heart was pounding. She lightly grabbed Daniel’s right hand with her own and placed his arm around her, resting his hand on her left hip. Daniel was about to politely object, but she took his left hand and place it on her chest, inside her sun dress. She lightly sighed. She hadn’t been touched by a man in so long, and Daniel’s hand were so strong, but so gentle..
Daniel got the hint and began softly rubbing her nipple. Her heart slowly started to speed up. Neither of them moved much to not attract attention, but they were in a dark subway car as there were side conversations all around them. No one noticed a thing. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes as she bit her lip to stop from letting out a low moan. She so very much wanted to moan to let him know how good that felt, but she held back.
Then he started kissing on her neck.
She almost lost it. She felt his manhood creeping up behind her and she pushed herself against him. She winced in pleasure as his grip got ever so slightly tighter. Her left hand slowly crept up and grabbed the back of his head. She began stroking his waves, but when he started using his tongue, she got a cold chill and began lightly scratching his scalp.
His right was traveling lower and she was getting anxious. She slowly lifted up her dress, giving the hand a place to go, and when Daniel started tracing figure eights on her inner thigh, she knew he was close to his mark.
She was getting wetter. The fact that people were around made her feel ways she hadn’t before. I just met him a little more than an hour ago, she thought. She decided two seconds later that she didn’t care. She reached into his pocket and started playing with him.
Daniel’s strong fingers bypassed the fragile entrance of Jasmin’s underwear and moved them to the side without conflict. His index and middle fingers started dancing in the rich and voluptuous pink folds and she felt a burst of energy stem from there and outwards until it reached the tips of her feet, causing her toes to curl. Oh he knows just where to- but she couldn’t finish the thought. The world exploded for her. She didn’t care about anything but the moment. She started to breathe heavy to try and control the emotions, but she was dripping like
The public danger, the holding in of her long restrained wails of spontaneous passion and the proficiency at which Daniel touched her was unbearable for Jasmin. She held back a yell that would have intimidated Xena as every nerve in her body was on fire. Her orgasm would have generated enough power to power the subway again had she been connected at the source.
But Daniel wasn’t finished. He already gave up on going to work on time today and devoted his attentions to this firecracker of sexuality. He wouldn’t be halfway content unless he made her come at least once more time.
She had been playing with him for more than ten minutes, and both of her hands weren’t enough. She wanted more. She turned to him and gave him a kiss that would have split galaxies with the power and emotion that was behind it.
Daniel.. She whispered.
Yes, Jasmin, what you do want?
She leaned back on the car door and picked up her purse. She pulled something out and put it in Daniel’s hand as she leaned forward and whispered in a barely audible tone.
I want you inside me.
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
Lips, Legs and Lies Pt4
The morning subway ride normally took 1 and a half hours. On a good day. On a day unobstructed by weather, mismatched scheduling or extreme congestion. On a day like this one. Daniel had never enjoyed random company like Jasmin before, but this commute was refreshing. Their conversation smoothly transited from one topic to another, and they seemed to be able to share a lot.
Politics and economics were just the tip of the Iceberg in terms of their common interests. Daniel always knew the right moment to slide in a small compliment and leave Jasmin blushing, something that she tried to act like she didn’t like, but secretly enjoyed.
Daniel knew, but he was having a mutually respectful conversation. He had never been captivated before by such a woman for this long. They talked all the way through the bus ride, while they were standing on line for breakfast, and even while they were waiting for the train.
Perhaps the energy of the first good day of summer was in the air, because it seemed that everyone was alive. The morning commutes were normally silent, with everyone in their own personal electronic shells, aided by their mobile music players, phones or even laptops. But today, strangers were remarking on the good things that they felt were coming towards them.
Haven’t seen this much togetherness since 9-11, he muttered. Jasmin gasped. Daniel!
Ok ok, didn’t mean to say it like that, but it’s a really good feeling, ya know?
Yes, you’re right. She smiled at him again. He felt his world melt.
Due to there not being any seats on the train, they were standing relatively close to each other. Jasmin could smell Daniel from where she was and she couldn’t get it out of her mind, nor ignore it. Daniel was hardly innocent on his behalf. He caught a whiff of Jasmin’s hair when they were buying their breakfast and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He pulled out his hand sanitizer and applied some before touching his bagel.
Jasmin chuckled at him, but Daniel replied by reminding her how many hundreds of dirty dollars that store sees an hour. After a few seconds of silence, she asked for some hand sanitizer as well, which Daniel laughed at.
He put some on his hand and began to apply it to Jasmin’s. She initially sighed lightly and objected, but she made no motion to pull away, so Daniel kept rubbing. After he was done she thanked him and turned away to eat her bagel so that he wouldn’t see her grinning from ear to ear.
The train ride was ok, they were able to pass the time for more than half an hour conversing with one another. Compared to other commutes, the ride was relatively tireless. More people got on and, stop by stop, they got closer and closer. After an hour on, they were in the home stretch, all that was left was the pass under the river and they’d be on the mainland.
The lights flickered on and off.
But came back to life. Muttered chuckles could be heard throughout the car as people were expressing relief, remarking about yesterday’s horrendous commute home.
I’m glad we didn’t get trapped under the water, Jasmin said, almost a whisper.
Yeah, me too, Daniel agreed. Had it been a couple of stops back, we’d at least be able to wait for the ferry.
Ah, but that takes forever!
But it’s better than missing out a days work.
Well on this day, that might not be so bad. I’d finally have time to go to the park.
That sounds like a marvelous idea. Anywhere but that dreadful office.
Jasmin laughed again. Not today though it seems.
It seemed on the contrary. The train was slowing down. Fast.
The lights were flickering like the hallway fluorescents in a bad Film Noir, until finally, with a last kaput and a buzz, they were out, engulfing the train in darkness.
Then the train stopped moving.
A commotion ran through the car as some people cursed and others started loosening their collars and sat down.
The emergency power came on and the floor lights at the base of the seats came on. After a few seconds, the conductor’s voice crackled on the loudspeakers and he made an announcement that they were caught in a rollout, and they thankfully had radio contact with the dispatch statement. They didn’t know when they would have power, but they would be ok if everyone stayed calm.
No one felt like panicking at 830 am anyway, so people began chatting about the situation.
Daniel decided that he would sit down as well, and he placed his bag down, but Jasmin, her back to him, reached out towards him and whispered, Wait..
Lips, Legs and Lies Pt3
She was shocked for a second. Was he talking to me, she lamented. She turned around slightly to look at him. Oh those eyes. He was wiping off his glasses with a cloth and gazing inquisitively at her. Mellow brown and full of life and wonder, she felt a different feeling than when he was walking towards her. She couldn’t explain this one, but it was beyond infatuation. It was more comforting.
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
Lips, Legs and Lies Pt2
She felt a chill down her back. She never felt chills, let alone on a Tuesday morning at the bus stop in the middle of summer while it was just stretching past 80 degrees at 7:34am. She looked up from her favorite novel, The Color of Water, and gave her neck a rub with her slender fingers on her left hand.
Barren, she thought with a sign. Her mind reeled back down
An empty ring finger at her age was more of a sign of freedom than emotional security. But that didn’t stop her from wondering…
Pardon me, he said, did you ask me something?
Lips, Legs and Lies Pt1
The morning commute was a regular occurrence, as most morning commutes are. But on this day, a Tuesday for those of you keeping track, was the first Tuesday of the rest of his life. Or so he thought. It started as soon as he stepped out of his 1 bedroom apartment and onto the streets, his legs feeling light and his mind clear. Finally, he had erased Erica from his life, and he felt no remorse for the pit of self depression she had dug for herself.
He put on his favorite pair of shades, brown tinted RayBans with silver frames, and began to walk towards the bus stop. The sun shined down and he glanced up at the cloudless sky and felt himself smile. He was glad to be reunited with his old friend, Sol, for it had been hidden behind the murky early-summer clouds for what seemed like an entire month. His waves shined in the light, fresh from his restrictive night cap and glistening with the scent of African Coconut from his favorite brand of Black Magic. His shoes still had their shine, his pants had his trademark crease down the middle and he felt that for once, he could loosen his top button.
Convention be damned, he thought, this is going to be a great day. And then his life changed.
He saw her.
Standing at the bus stop, reading a novel, her red and white sundress with the flairing skirt gently flapped in the passing breeze. Her slender legs were shimmering in the early morning sun as her meadows of caramel smoothly blended up and away, disappearing past the knee, only leaving onlookers to wonder what treasures she kept hidden away at the Junction.
Her body's smooth curves gave way to her hour glass figure, and her tender bosom seemed captive underneath her fabric of choice. Her arms were graceful and poised as she flipped through the pages, apparently captivated by her subject matter. The gently lines of her face gave way to defining features such as the accent of her nose and the luscious pursing of her lips.
Oh indeed she had kissable lips, he thought. Her dark hair rested calmly on her shoulder, grazing her chest, attempting a feeble effort to both hide and augment the lovely sight of her breasts. Her hair. Bouncing and lively, it seemed part of a ritualistic dance of entrapment as she turned her head to check to see if the bus was approaching, then back down to read her novel as she discovered it was nowhere in sight.
Yes, she was gorgeous. The type of beauty that only comes around once in a Blue Moon. The type of woman that most normal men dare not to dream of, lest they disappoint themselves at the harsh reality. The type of woman that would change your life in ways you never thought possible.
She rubbed her neck as she looked up from her book and happened to glance in his direction.
Their eyes met.
Time froze.
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
He put on his favorite pair of shades, brown tinted RayBans with silver frames, and began to walk towards the bus stop. The sun shined down and he glanced up at the cloudless sky and felt himself smile. He was glad to be reunited with his old friend, Sol, for it had been hidden behind the murky early-summer clouds for what seemed like an entire month. His waves shined in the light, fresh from his restrictive night cap and glistening with the scent of African Coconut from his favorite brand of Black Magic. His shoes still had their shine, his pants had his trademark crease down the middle and he felt that for once, he could loosen his top button.
Convention be damned, he thought, this is going to be a great day. And then his life changed.
He saw her.
Standing at the bus stop, reading a novel, her red and white sundress with the flairing skirt gently flapped in the passing breeze. Her slender legs were shimmering in the early morning sun as her meadows of caramel smoothly blended up and away, disappearing past the knee, only leaving onlookers to wonder what treasures she kept hidden away at the Junction.
Her body's smooth curves gave way to her hour glass figure, and her tender bosom seemed captive underneath her fabric of choice. Her arms were graceful and poised as she flipped through the pages, apparently captivated by her subject matter. The gently lines of her face gave way to defining features such as the accent of her nose and the luscious pursing of her lips.
Oh indeed she had kissable lips, he thought. Her dark hair rested calmly on her shoulder, grazing her chest, attempting a feeble effort to both hide and augment the lovely sight of her breasts. Her hair. Bouncing and lively, it seemed part of a ritualistic dance of entrapment as she turned her head to check to see if the bus was approaching, then back down to read her novel as she discovered it was nowhere in sight.
Yes, she was gorgeous. The type of beauty that only comes around once in a Blue Moon. The type of woman that most normal men dare not to dream of, lest they disappoint themselves at the harsh reality. The type of woman that would change your life in ways you never thought possible.
She rubbed her neck as she looked up from her book and happened to glance in his direction.
Their eyes met.
Time froze.
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Why not?
I was definitely mentioned in the TacoCommander blog recently. It was for recognition of the Fizzle.
Thank you, TDH - the good twin - for the accolades, your references have increased my page views.
That or the coffee inspired creativity I've been enjoying for the past few weeks.
Drawback to coffee: I have to piss like a pregnant woman shortly after.
I'm pretty sure that if I were to give blood at 11am, the doctors would discover a very high concentration of a Columbian extract that definitely isn't Cocaine.
Give TDH's page a look. His brand of literary proficiency is a different brand altogether from mine, but I suppose that's a result of his being a half-generation above me and he has more experiences to pull from.
He speaks of foreign concepts to me, such as paying bills and rearing children. His words are like the very rays of the sun beaming down on the aspirations of those who came after him, so that our steps might not be engulfed in darkness but rather bathed in prosperity.
That, and he's forgotten more about comics than I'll ever know. So check out his page unless you want the unchecked Hordes of the virgin Harpie Demons to entice you to an eternity of insignificance.
Thank you, TDH - the good twin - for the accolades, your references have increased my page views.
That or the coffee inspired creativity I've been enjoying for the past few weeks.
Drawback to coffee: I have to piss like a pregnant woman shortly after.
I'm pretty sure that if I were to give blood at 11am, the doctors would discover a very high concentration of a Columbian extract that definitely isn't Cocaine.
Give TDH's page a look. His brand of literary proficiency is a different brand altogether from mine, but I suppose that's a result of his being a half-generation above me and he has more experiences to pull from.
He speaks of foreign concepts to me, such as paying bills and rearing children. His words are like the very rays of the sun beaming down on the aspirations of those who came after him, so that our steps might not be engulfed in darkness but rather bathed in prosperity.
That, and he's forgotten more about comics than I'll ever know. So check out his page unless you want the unchecked Hordes of the virgin Harpie Demons to entice you to an eternity of insignificance.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Dizzle
I'm on a roll. I'm making up for all the posts I didn't do whether it was lack of inspiration or me not wanting to just ramble without substance because I didn't think it was funny.
But today's Dizzle goes to 300.
The Best Movie Ever.
I wish the Dizzle was stronger... Perhaps, a Wizzle, if you will. But Wizzle sounds like a sex toy, so Dizzle, which sounds like a bathroom affliction, will have to suffice.
If you haven't seen 300, it needs to be watched. Every scene in this movie was Epic. Every line. Every camera angle, every sound. Every thrust from the most Epic buttsecks scene in Universe History.
Epic.
Epic in movie form.
Imagine if you will that Superman was having a fight with Jesus at the World Tournament and Jesus went Super-Saiyajin level 5 and Superman was forced to morph into the Platinum Time Ranger and the fight was for world domination and there was a ticking time bomb on the world's core that would explode unless a winner was determined withing the next 30 seconds and Jessica Alba was currently being brought to orgasm by Aragorn while the army was about to rush the Black Gates of Hell and Satan himself decided to start playing Vivaldi's 5th Overture on the crystal Xylophone of Destruction while Cloud Strife was charging up Omnislash in order to perform a Double Tech Combo with Link that would boost Sephiroth into the Stratosphere so that he could summon the Dark Powers of Robert Dinero to deflect the meteor that was on a crash course for the planet and the Megaton Laser atop the SpaceCenter pivitol for our survival was being controlled By Akuma who was currently preoccupied in a fight to the death with Heihachi who came back from the dead after learning how to speak all forms of the Jedi Hebrew while being able to write the language of Sound with nothing more than the force of his blinking.
And now imagine if that was made into a movie.
And it was Twice as Epic.
Then you'd have 1/8th of how Epic 300 is.
If you were somehow able to physically manifest Epic by making the juice from the Epic Fruit which grows on the Epic Trees that are located at the top of Mt. Epicadia on the Island of Epicaptarai in the middle of the Epicademus Ocean, you might be able to understand how Epic 300 is.
The Eternal Dizzle Winner of The Universe is 300.
All future Dizzles are simply honorary.
If you don't like what I say, you kan go DIAF.
-PDK
But today's Dizzle goes to 300.
The Best Movie Ever.
I wish the Dizzle was stronger... Perhaps, a Wizzle, if you will. But Wizzle sounds like a sex toy, so Dizzle, which sounds like a bathroom affliction, will have to suffice.
If you haven't seen 300, it needs to be watched. Every scene in this movie was Epic. Every line. Every camera angle, every sound. Every thrust from the most Epic buttsecks scene in Universe History.
Epic.
Epic in movie form.
Imagine if you will that Superman was having a fight with Jesus at the World Tournament and Jesus went Super-Saiyajin level 5 and Superman was forced to morph into the Platinum Time Ranger and the fight was for world domination and there was a ticking time bomb on the world's core that would explode unless a winner was determined withing the next 30 seconds and Jessica Alba was currently being brought to orgasm by Aragorn while the army was about to rush the Black Gates of Hell and Satan himself decided to start playing Vivaldi's 5th Overture on the crystal Xylophone of Destruction while Cloud Strife was charging up Omnislash in order to perform a Double Tech Combo with Link that would boost Sephiroth into the Stratosphere so that he could summon the Dark Powers of Robert Dinero to deflect the meteor that was on a crash course for the planet and the Megaton Laser atop the SpaceCenter pivitol for our survival was being controlled By Akuma who was currently preoccupied in a fight to the death with Heihachi who came back from the dead after learning how to speak all forms of the Jedi Hebrew while being able to write the language of Sound with nothing more than the force of his blinking.
And now imagine if that was made into a movie.
And it was Twice as Epic.
Then you'd have 1/8th of how Epic 300 is.
If you were somehow able to physically manifest Epic by making the juice from the Epic Fruit which grows on the Epic Trees that are located at the top of Mt. Epicadia on the Island of Epicaptarai in the middle of the Epicademus Ocean, you might be able to understand how Epic 300 is.
The Eternal Dizzle Winner of The Universe is 300.
All future Dizzles are simply honorary.
If you don't like what I say, you kan go DIAF.
-PDK
June 26th, 2007
I'll jump right into it:
The Fizzle award of today goes to triflin and lying bitches.
This category is vast and vide, much like the vaginas of these whores.
I'm refering to the grimy sluts who consent to sex, but upon getting caught, they make allegations of rape.
I'm referring to the whores that purposely trap a man with a child and don't want abortion.
I'm talking about the cunts who have all manner of STDs in their vaginas and are eager to be Proto-Cultures for combinations and concoctions of Testicular Death.
I'm talking about the complete FUCKTARDs who are instrumental in ruining good men.
You women have forced me to use obscene profanity in my writing. The only thing that angers me this much are flaming homosexuals who think that their calling in life is to parade around in a complete display of faggotry while they display their overtly proud gayness and succeed in making the overwhelmingly vast majority of society to be uncomfortable.
It is people like that who need to be condemned to a flaming pit of rock and mortar until the ravaging embers of the void reduce their hulking masses and wastes of existence into the nether realms of forgotten existence while obtusely inverted maggots perform the moonlight sonata on their retinas with the tusks of the endangered Elephants of the SubArctic located on the 8th moon of Yevin on the 35th day of the celebration of the Demon of Rah'tehmtnghjar.
Or they could just go back to the closet and do us all a favor and keep it to themselves.
Thank you triflin and lying bitches for making men scared of sex, one of the greatest inventions in the world next to Cinnabon, Flavia, Light and Halle Berry.
As it is, I have to be careful where me and my Penis decide to take adventures to. Now I have to actually really know a girl before I give her the distinct pleasure of her being able to tell her friends I was inside of her, lest I be delegated to the pages of history as That Dude Who Had That Itch.
That's not a cool thing to put in a yearbook.
Don't like what I say? Well, you kan go DIAF.
-PDK
The Fizzle award of today goes to triflin and lying bitches.
This category is vast and vide, much like the vaginas of these whores.
I'm refering to the grimy sluts who consent to sex, but upon getting caught, they make allegations of rape.
I'm referring to the whores that purposely trap a man with a child and don't want abortion.
I'm talking about the cunts who have all manner of STDs in their vaginas and are eager to be Proto-Cultures for combinations and concoctions of Testicular Death.
I'm talking about the complete FUCKTARDs who are instrumental in ruining good men.
You women have forced me to use obscene profanity in my writing. The only thing that angers me this much are flaming homosexuals who think that their calling in life is to parade around in a complete display of faggotry while they display their overtly proud gayness and succeed in making the overwhelmingly vast majority of society to be uncomfortable.
It is people like that who need to be condemned to a flaming pit of rock and mortar until the ravaging embers of the void reduce their hulking masses and wastes of existence into the nether realms of forgotten existence while obtusely inverted maggots perform the moonlight sonata on their retinas with the tusks of the endangered Elephants of the SubArctic located on the 8th moon of Yevin on the 35th day of the celebration of the Demon of Rah'tehmtnghjar.
Or they could just go back to the closet and do us all a favor and keep it to themselves.
Thank you triflin and lying bitches for making men scared of sex, one of the greatest inventions in the world next to Cinnabon, Flavia, Light and Halle Berry.
As it is, I have to be careful where me and my Penis decide to take adventures to. Now I have to actually really know a girl before I give her the distinct pleasure of her being able to tell her friends I was inside of her, lest I be delegated to the pages of history as That Dude Who Had That Itch.
That's not a cool thing to put in a yearbook.
Don't like what I say? Well, you kan go DIAF.
-PDK
Back Home
[I've been fortunate enough to have parents who care immensely about me. Parents who are extremely interested in my well-being, correct me when I'm in the wrong, do right by me when I need help and praise me when I succeed. My mother and father are vast resources of knowledge and I am blessed and highly favored to have been reared into the world by them.
I've never had the distinct displeasure of having to work the streets or subscribe to the doctrines of the inner-city, and I look at where I've been and what I dream of achieving and I truly thank God for all that has been supplied to me throughout life. With that said, my own brand of poetry isn't about my dark experiences, but rather the insight that someone who was inside looking within and out at the same time can contribute to society.
I can't say that I fully agree with the way some of the people in my neighborhood seek to live their lives, especially with the wealth of opportunities available. Hell, it's relatively cheap to get a GED (if it costs anything at all) and Community College is pretty much free. With tenacity and hard work, anyone can be a success story. But I had a strong foundation to build upon, so I'm not gonna sit here and preach (I'll leave that to Republicans) when the sad truth of the matter is that there are people starving, mentally, emotionally and physically, and they gotta do whatever it takes to make sure that there is a tomorrow.
Sometimes you just can't tell someone to go "get a job" without understanding where they come from and their circumstances...
I think Obama said it the best when he said, "I am where I am today as a direct result of the Titans of the Civil Rights era. Without their hard work I couldn't achieve what I have. I stand on the shoulders of Giants."
Or something like that, I'll get the exact quote later, but that was the general gist of it. This introduction has directly turned itself into it's own post, so without further ado, here is one of the first Post Ascension Ren poems I wrote back in the middle of Freshman year.]
I've never had the distinct displeasure of having to work the streets or subscribe to the doctrines of the inner-city, and I look at where I've been and what I dream of achieving and I truly thank God for all that has been supplied to me throughout life. With that said, my own brand of poetry isn't about my dark experiences, but rather the insight that someone who was inside looking within and out at the same time can contribute to society.
I can't say that I fully agree with the way some of the people in my neighborhood seek to live their lives, especially with the wealth of opportunities available. Hell, it's relatively cheap to get a GED (if it costs anything at all) and Community College is pretty much free. With tenacity and hard work, anyone can be a success story. But I had a strong foundation to build upon, so I'm not gonna sit here and preach (I'll leave that to Republicans) when the sad truth of the matter is that there are people starving, mentally, emotionally and physically, and they gotta do whatever it takes to make sure that there is a tomorrow.
Sometimes you just can't tell someone to go "get a job" without understanding where they come from and their circumstances...
I think Obama said it the best when he said, "I am where I am today as a direct result of the Titans of the Civil Rights era. Without their hard work I couldn't achieve what I have. I stand on the shoulders of Giants."
Or something like that, I'll get the exact quote later, but that was the general gist of it. This introduction has directly turned itself into it's own post, so without further ado, here is one of the first Post Ascension Ren poems I wrote back in the middle of Freshman year.]
It’s Ten oclock-
I’m trying to get home-
I’m walking alone
The darkness of
The streets closes in
My patience grows thin
I’m always looking
Over my back
With heat from the crack
These peeps are shooting
Radical cats
The metal goes “clack”
I duck for cover
Under a car
My crib isn’t far
Police aint coming
Nowhere around
My courage is found
I gotta get up
Outta the hood
This violence aint good
I grab my books
From under the whip
I stumble and trip
I got a test
At school the next day
I’m making my way
Fuck all the beef
This gang shit is weak
Drama in The Hood
[The following is a very old poem of mine. I'm talking about before I started listening to Lupe and changing the way I look at the English language old. I still like it tho. It's titled Drama in the Hood.]
Gunshots on the blocks
Homies fightin over rocks
Screaming, pullin out they glocks
They blind, and trapped up in a box
Gunshots on the blocks
Homies fightin over rocks
Screaming, pullin out they glocks
They blind, and trapped up in a box
The Reds are running all these games
And come and snatchin up the dames
They think that fortune and the fames
Come up from passing homies names
The Blues are stealing from the Reds
Catching homies in they beds
Sun comes up, we finding deads
Homies have split open heads
Homies killing off they brothas
Turning face on one another
Homies breaking hearts of mothers
Acting like we something other
I want to do my effin work
Some chick is loud, her man’s a jerk
Its only 9 up in my hood
These homies really aint no good
These ghetto broads is loud as hell
Some fake ass chicks go ‘round and tell
Dude banged her friend and shit gets tight
This stupid hoe just wants to fight
This clueless trick, she just been played
She saw the green, thought she was made
She mad at the wrong person though
Just wanna fight, these trifling ho’s..
These bitches always getting stuck
Cause all they want to do is fuck
I see this bullshit every day
Always getting in my way
Bitch drama clouds her simple mind
It seems to happen all the time
This playa watches shit unfold
The Puppet Master game is old
Some neighbor finally calls the cops
I’m pleased to see how soon it stops
“What could have been” becomes “What was”
Much work to do before it does.
Otakus..
I had a nice rant go through my head, and I have no one to blame but the Otakus.
Yes. Those fags. Speaking of fags, it was Gay Pride day on Sunday. That shyt was definitely uncomfortable. But that's all I'm saying about that, because the last thing I need is to be /blist by some queers.
Not really, but I'm going to be considerate of other people and not abuse my First Amendment right, simple because I know that on the flip side, I don't want someone on the Internet bashing me for being Black, Christian or something else that important to me.
So fags, you guys got lucky! /fume
Moving on, Otakus are queer. I don't mean Ricky Lake queer, and I definitely don't mean George Clooney in the closet queer.
No, I mean you all, for the most part, give a bad name to everyone everywhere who loves Anime. Warning: If you love Anime, don't be an Otaku, because you lose all respect from normal people.
The Otakus are the people that think Japan is so great. Japan is Japan has such a great place to live. Japan has such a fantastic culture.
Now, I can appreciate the Japanese way of life. I can definitely respect their culture, ideals, customs, and history. Hell, I write Self-Fanfics of me being a Samurai. But there is a line, people. There is a limit.
When you start talking about how America "sucks," and you start basing it on your love of a country based on the fictional adventures that the bittorrent every week, you need help.
When you say that this country is lame, and you wish you live elsewhere: move. Learn a ridiculously hard language and try to assimilate into a society that, for the most part, shuns everyone who doesn't look like them.
Let me make this clear, because this rant is about to stretch the length of my page and have no more form or function after a few more sentences. I can sense it. The hate will start flowing with no end in sight. I'm wound up and I haven't had coffee since Thursday, and I'm on my first cup of Espresso.
Japan is nothing like it is in any Anime you've ever watched. Ever.
There are no demons flying around.
There are no Ninja's trying to save the world from Snake Charmers.
There are no Death Gods fighting for our sanity.
There are no Extreme Tennis/Bowling/Basketball/RollerBlade/AnyFuckingOtherSportHere matches that leave the entire country in awe.
For one thing, Japan is a great place, but Japanese people are lame. We nuked them. Twice.
That, and they're short.
And their birthrate is dropping, despite the fact that there is gratuitous sex in the culture, and middle schoolers are having unprotected sex all the time.
I appreciate Japan for what it is, but every society has their problems. Otakus LOVE the damn place and 98% of them haven't been there.
These are the same people that say the English voice dubs suck. (Dragonball Z, actually is very good and probably the reason Anime is so big and mainstream in America now.) Granted, most do, but I'll be damned if I choose to watch a Japanese Raw over an English Dub.
Hey, know why?
Because I don't fucking speak Japanese, and neither do you.
That's not Japanese, you effing, Otaku. You're not cool for saying Japanese phrased at the end of your sentences when I talk to you on AIM. You're not kool for kalling me "baka" or doing a very bad impression of a very cliche version of a generic bad guy.
You're not cool in America. You won't be cool in Japan. Go outside and hit the damn track, you're sweating around your nipple area.
That post was supposed to be more organized, but I got lost somewhere around the fag rant.
Damn, I said it again. -_-;
I'm just mad this week. This is gonna be a raw posting period.
-PDK
"Don't like what I say? Well, you kan go DIAF"
Yes. Those fags. Speaking of fags, it was Gay Pride day on Sunday. That shyt was definitely uncomfortable. But that's all I'm saying about that, because the last thing I need is to be /blist by some queers.
Not really, but I'm going to be considerate of other people and not abuse my First Amendment right, simple because I know that on the flip side, I don't want someone on the Internet bashing me for being Black, Christian or something else that important to me.
So fags, you guys got lucky! /fume
Moving on, Otakus are queer. I don't mean Ricky Lake queer, and I definitely don't mean George Clooney in the closet queer.
No, I mean you all, for the most part, give a bad name to everyone everywhere who loves Anime. Warning: If you love Anime, don't be an Otaku, because you lose all respect from normal people.
The Otakus are the people that think Japan is so great. Japan is Japan has such a great place to live. Japan has such a fantastic culture.
Now, I can appreciate the Japanese way of life. I can definitely respect their culture, ideals, customs, and history. Hell, I write Self-Fanfics of me being a Samurai. But there is a line, people. There is a limit.
When you start talking about how America "sucks," and you start basing it on your love of a country based on the fictional adventures that the bittorrent every week, you need help.
When you say that this country is lame, and you wish you live elsewhere: move. Learn a ridiculously hard language and try to assimilate into a society that, for the most part, shuns everyone who doesn't look like them.
Let me make this clear, because this rant is about to stretch the length of my page and have no more form or function after a few more sentences. I can sense it. The hate will start flowing with no end in sight. I'm wound up and I haven't had coffee since Thursday, and I'm on my first cup of Espresso.
Japan is nothing like it is in any Anime you've ever watched. Ever.
There are no demons flying around.
There are no Ninja's trying to save the world from Snake Charmers.
There are no Death Gods fighting for our sanity.
There are no Extreme Tennis/Bowling/Basketball/RollerBlade/AnyFuckingOtherSportHere matches that leave the entire country in awe.
For one thing, Japan is a great place, but Japanese people are lame. We nuked them. Twice.
That, and they're short.
And their birthrate is dropping, despite the fact that there is gratuitous sex in the culture, and middle schoolers are having unprotected sex all the time.
I appreciate Japan for what it is, but every society has their problems. Otakus LOVE the damn place and 98% of them haven't been there.
These are the same people that say the English voice dubs suck. (Dragonball Z, actually is very good and probably the reason Anime is so big and mainstream in America now.) Granted, most do, but I'll be damned if I choose to watch a Japanese Raw over an English Dub.
Hey, know why?
Because I don't fucking speak Japanese, and neither do you.
That's not Japanese, you effing, Otaku. You're not cool for saying Japanese phrased at the end of your sentences when I talk to you on AIM. You're not kool for kalling me "baka" or doing a very bad impression of a very cliche version of a generic bad guy.
You're not cool in America. You won't be cool in Japan. Go outside and hit the damn track, you're sweating around your nipple area.
That post was supposed to be more organized, but I got lost somewhere around the fag rant.
Damn, I said it again. -_-;
I'm just mad this week. This is gonna be a raw posting period.
-PDK
"Don't like what I say? Well, you kan go DIAF"
Friday, June 15, 2007
Jazz
Ella Fitzgerald
Louis Armstrong
Count Basie
Dizzy Gillespie
Oscar Peterson
Duke Ellington
Thelonious Monk
Etta James
John Coultrane
Miles Davis
Lena Horn
Nat King Cole
Jimmie Durante
*The above in bold were via request of TDH. They are excellent additions that required no screening.
Look em up. Buy their CDs. You might learn something.
-Because I can
Louis Armstrong
Count Basie
Dizzy Gillespie
Oscar Peterson
Duke Ellington
Thelonious Monk
Etta James
John Coultrane
Miles Davis
Lena Horn
Nat King Cole
Jimmie Durante
*The above in bold were via request of TDH. They are excellent additions that required no screening.
Look em up. Buy their CDs. You might learn something.
-Because I can
Thursday, June 14, 2007
June 14th, 2007
I'll jump right into it. Today's Fizzle goes to Upright Sleeping Train Man. This beacon and example of Human balance managed to sleep the entire train ride into Midtown from queens, teetering and tottering the entire time: But never falling.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he was swaying and swaggering in his seat, reminiscent of one of those perpetual motion things you put on desks that infinitely transfer inertia between the metallic marbles. This event was started when I sat down, but moved a couple inches away for purely comedic intent. Oh yes, I WAS sitting next to him, but upon seeing this swaying soldier, I was inclined to move away, lest I be victim of a Subway Attack, wherein a fellow passenger deems it fit to sleep on your shoulder.
I was not intent on being a pillow at 8 in the morning. But this guy was resilient. His dips and his leans became ever more violent and close to the seat. I estimated that the build up momentum of a few more train stops would be just what he needed to come crashing down onto the seats.
But he thwarted me and robbed me of entertainment, and was instead inclined to garner my immense respect. This Fizzle goes out to you, Upright Sleeping Train Man. You even managed to beat out Standing Sleeping Train Woman, who deserves an honorable mention for finding perfect Nirvana in the midst of the Roosevelt Stop Shuffle.
But the real winner is thte MTA for enabling NYC to function every morning. Via paranoia, anger and obscene advocation of coffee. Glorious.
-Because I can.
Edit: I put "Dizzle" in the first paragraph instead of "Fizzle." Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, let this be a lesson in proofreading.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he was swaying and swaggering in his seat, reminiscent of one of those perpetual motion things you put on desks that infinitely transfer inertia between the metallic marbles. This event was started when I sat down, but moved a couple inches away for purely comedic intent. Oh yes, I WAS sitting next to him, but upon seeing this swaying soldier, I was inclined to move away, lest I be victim of a Subway Attack, wherein a fellow passenger deems it fit to sleep on your shoulder.
I was not intent on being a pillow at 8 in the morning. But this guy was resilient. His dips and his leans became ever more violent and close to the seat. I estimated that the build up momentum of a few more train stops would be just what he needed to come crashing down onto the seats.
But he thwarted me and robbed me of entertainment, and was instead inclined to garner my immense respect. This Fizzle goes out to you, Upright Sleeping Train Man. You even managed to beat out Standing Sleeping Train Woman, who deserves an honorable mention for finding perfect Nirvana in the midst of the Roosevelt Stop Shuffle.
But the real winner is thte MTA for enabling NYC to function every morning. Via paranoia, anger and obscene advocation of coffee. Glorious.
-Because I can.
Edit: I put "Dizzle" in the first paragraph instead of "Fizzle." Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, let this be a lesson in proofreading.
MySpace...
Without further Ado, I present the Fizzle of June 14th, 2007:
MySpace
MySpace, you fail at life. Facebook is better, doesn't have that spam crap, and makes it easier to know what events are going on and what your friends are doing. It's more streamlined, more user intuitive, and with the recent introduction of these customizable "Applications," and the rebuffing of all the privacy related to the new feed and such, Facebook is now the number 1 time-killer of college students world wide.
MySpace, more people may associate with you, but Facebook is better.
Congratulations, MySpace, you've earned the Fizzle award for today.
-Because I can.
MySpace
MySpace, you fail at life. Facebook is better, doesn't have that spam crap, and makes it easier to know what events are going on and what your friends are doing. It's more streamlined, more user intuitive, and with the recent introduction of these customizable "Applications," and the rebuffing of all the privacy related to the new feed and such, Facebook is now the number 1 time-killer of college students world wide.
MySpace, more people may associate with you, but Facebook is better.
Congratulations, MySpace, you've earned the Fizzle award for today.
-Because I can.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Effue Of The Week.
Probably because of the fact that if I see an opening that yells "attack me, you retard."
Or probably because I'm just VERY blunt when I want to be.
But it's not uncommon for me to piss someone off. It might be unintentional, or sometimes (read: always) it is, but it happens.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm talking about pissing someone off to the fact that their only response is a cuss word. Our favorite cuss word in America, it seems.
So without further ado, I introduce a new award entitled: The Effue Award.
There might be honorary recipients if I deem appropriate, but this award is delegated for the moments. The moments are the heroes in this ceremony. For punchlines or situations where someone just has to blurt out a hearty, "F- - - YOU!"
This award is for you.
Today's Effue Award goes to my friend, Jenn M (obviously not her real name.)
I'll let the conversation explain itself.
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: thanks for responding to my text message the other day!
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: i thought you met an untimely doom
[14:23] Jenn M.: ........i dont get txt msgs
[14:23] Jenn M.: anymore
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: ah
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: that's why
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: well i was just trying to say hi and stuff
[14:24] RenarudoTheRed: i wanted to know how RI was in the summer
[14:24] Jenn M.: oh well hi
[14:24] Jenn M.: and ..........it kinda sucks
[14:25] Jenn M.: not what i thought it was going to be at all
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: what the fudge did you think it was gonna be?
[14:25] Jenn M.: fun
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: HA
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: ...
[14:25] Jenn M.: and i'd have my roommates around
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: HA
[14:25] Jenn M.: i'm actually kinda lonely
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: RI is never "fun"
[14:25] Jenn M.: and i really wanna go back to last summer
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: not even during the school year
[14:25] Jenn M.: lol
[14:25] Jenn M.: yes it is
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: well get a pet then
[14:25] Jenn M.: i've been trying
[14:26] Jenn M.: no one thinks me having a dog is a good idea
[14:26] RenarudoTheRed: it'd probably die
[14:26] RenarudoTheRed: yeah i agree with them
[14:26] Jenn M.: especially cuz im moving back into the dorms in the fall and then going to switzerland in the spring
[14:26] Jenn M.: FUCK U
[14:26] Jenn M.: I WOULD NEVER LET MY DOG DIE
This week's Effue Award is happily given to Jenn. Stand up, take a bow, you earned it.
Or probably because I'm just VERY blunt when I want to be.
But it's not uncommon for me to piss someone off. It might be unintentional, or sometimes (read: always) it is, but it happens.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm talking about pissing someone off to the fact that their only response is a cuss word. Our favorite cuss word in America, it seems.
So without further ado, I introduce a new award entitled: The Effue Award.
There might be honorary recipients if I deem appropriate, but this award is delegated for the moments. The moments are the heroes in this ceremony. For punchlines or situations where someone just has to blurt out a hearty, "F- - - YOU!"
This award is for you.
Today's Effue Award goes to my friend, Jenn M (obviously not her real name.)
I'll let the conversation explain itself.
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: thanks for responding to my text message the other day!
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: i thought you met an untimely doom
[14:23] Jenn M.: ........i dont get txt msgs
[14:23] Jenn M.: anymore
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: ah
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: that's why
[14:23] RenarudoTheRed: well i was just trying to say hi and stuff
[14:24] RenarudoTheRed: i wanted to know how RI was in the summer
[14:24] Jenn M.: oh well hi
[14:24] Jenn M.: and ..........it kinda sucks
[14:25] Jenn M.: not what i thought it was going to be at all
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: what the fudge did you think it was gonna be?
[14:25] Jenn M.: fun
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: HA
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: ...
[14:25] Jenn M.: and i'd have my roommates around
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: HA
[14:25] Jenn M.: i'm actually kinda lonely
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: RI is never "fun"
[14:25] Jenn M.: and i really wanna go back to last summer
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: not even during the school year
[14:25] Jenn M.: lol
[14:25] Jenn M.: yes it is
[14:25] RenarudoTheRed: well get a pet then
[14:25] Jenn M.: i've been trying
[14:26] Jenn M.: no one thinks me having a dog is a good idea
[14:26] RenarudoTheRed: it'd probably die
[14:26] RenarudoTheRed: yeah i agree with them
[14:26] Jenn M.: especially cuz im moving back into the dorms in the fall and then going to switzerland in the spring
[14:26] Jenn M.: FUCK U
[14:26] Jenn M.: I WOULD NEVER LET MY DOG DIE
This week's Effue Award is happily given to Jenn. Stand up, take a bow, you earned it.
Fizzle
You guys all remember the Dizzle.
I'd like to introduce the Fizzle.
The Dizzle highlights moments of awesomeness in any given topic at any given time. Also know as the Chuck Norris Awards. But anyway, The Fizzle is the complete opposite. The Fizzle highlights people, objects or events that completely fail at life.
I have a bunch of awards to hand out, so this is definitely going to be a common occurrence.
But I'll try to limit the winners of today, because I, for once, have a LOT of work to do.
So without further ado, I present to the internets, the June 13th, 2007 Fizzle Awards.
In todays competition, we will be looking at a Fizzle that was hidden cleverly inside of a Dizzle.
The Honorary Dizzle that I am refering to is none other than Linkin Park's Minutes to Midnight, their 3rd CD attempt and receiver of mixed reviews. There were people who loveod it, people who hated it, and people that were indifferent. I personally thought it was fantastic, and all the songs worked well together when it might have seemed that individually they were mildy above average.
Regardless, Linkin Park took too long to release this album, and it was launched upon a lukewarmed audience who hadn't heard a LP sound in more than 3 years. So there were people who liked it because it was new material and they contrasted with the people who hadn't heard LP in forever and lost the taste.
They can shove it up their rears, because I bought the Super Mega Gundam Ultra Deluxe Version that came with the CD AND the DVD. And I sent out my $25 check to LP Underground.
Because I'm that uber.
But today's Fizzle award isn't about the Album, it is about a song. That song is none other than, "Valentine's Day."
Thought LP wasn't the poster-band for Transgressional Emo anymore? Well never fear! Valentine's Day is here! From the opening lines about insides turning to black, to the chorus about being depressed because of the loneliness on that fateful holiday, "Valentine's Day" has all the fantastic elements of an emo track.
Kudos LP.
And we thought you lost your touch.
That concludes the Fizzle for this morning. I'll be back after returning from Queens.
I'd like to introduce the Fizzle.
The Dizzle highlights moments of awesomeness in any given topic at any given time. Also know as the Chuck Norris Awards. But anyway, The Fizzle is the complete opposite. The Fizzle highlights people, objects or events that completely fail at life.
I have a bunch of awards to hand out, so this is definitely going to be a common occurrence.
But I'll try to limit the winners of today, because I, for once, have a LOT of work to do.
So without further ado, I present to the internets, the June 13th, 2007 Fizzle Awards.
In todays competition, we will be looking at a Fizzle that was hidden cleverly inside of a Dizzle.
The Honorary Dizzle that I am refering to is none other than Linkin Park's Minutes to Midnight, their 3rd CD attempt and receiver of mixed reviews. There were people who loveod it, people who hated it, and people that were indifferent. I personally thought it was fantastic, and all the songs worked well together when it might have seemed that individually they were mildy above average.
Regardless, Linkin Park took too long to release this album, and it was launched upon a lukewarmed audience who hadn't heard a LP sound in more than 3 years. So there were people who liked it because it was new material and they contrasted with the people who hadn't heard LP in forever and lost the taste.
They can shove it up their rears, because I bought the Super Mega Gundam Ultra Deluxe Version that came with the CD AND the DVD. And I sent out my $25 check to LP Underground.
Because I'm that uber.
But today's Fizzle award isn't about the Album, it is about a song. That song is none other than, "Valentine's Day."
Thought LP wasn't the poster-band for Transgressional Emo anymore? Well never fear! Valentine's Day is here! From the opening lines about insides turning to black, to the chorus about being depressed because of the loneliness on that fateful holiday, "Valentine's Day" has all the fantastic elements of an emo track.
Kudos LP.
And we thought you lost your touch.
That concludes the Fizzle for this morning. I'll be back after returning from Queens.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Good news! :-D
For once!
See, I rarely use emotes in my headlines, because they seem so juvenile.
But the Yankees are on a 6 game winning streak and have won 9 of their last 11.
Call it prayer, call it teamwork, or maybe getting Clemens back was what we needed to just jump-start us.
Well now I know what it's like to be a fan: Support of the team in the worst moments.
And goddammit, the Yanks have had a LOT of those these past years. Maybe I'm hoping for too much, because my earliest memories of Fandom date back to 96, where the era of the Dynasty started.
It seemed like every year was a World Series match and just not having the Yanks in the World Series is weird to me... But over the past 11 years, I've gradually gotten used to it. The allure of the Yanks has rubbed off, and now all that is left is my core of support.
Well blame me if you want, but I was a front-runner at first, now I'm a fan. Yay!
GO YANKS!
See, I rarely use emotes in my headlines, because they seem so juvenile.
But the Yankees are on a 6 game winning streak and have won 9 of their last 11.
Call it prayer, call it teamwork, or maybe getting Clemens back was what we needed to just jump-start us.
Well now I know what it's like to be a fan: Support of the team in the worst moments.
And goddammit, the Yanks have had a LOT of those these past years. Maybe I'm hoping for too much, because my earliest memories of Fandom date back to 96, where the era of the Dynasty started.
It seemed like every year was a World Series match and just not having the Yanks in the World Series is weird to me... But over the past 11 years, I've gradually gotten used to it. The allure of the Yanks has rubbed off, and now all that is left is my core of support.
Well blame me if you want, but I was a front-runner at first, now I'm a fan. Yay!
GO YANKS!
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Links of the Day
Just discovered this site. It's fantastic. I suspect not being bored a day in my life again.
Ever.
Enjoy HotChicksWithDouchebas
And this site looks pretty entertaining.
Wall Street Fighter
That's all for the noon-time links. More after the break.
Ever.
Enjoy HotChicksWithDouchebas
And this site looks pretty entertaining.
Wall Street Fighter
That's all for the noon-time links. More after the break.
99 Acura Integra LS
I love you, Green Destiny.
We're going places next year.
So I'm kinda obsessed with this car... See, the story is as follows:
For a while we had 3 cars in our driveway:
99 Acura Integra LS
92 Acura Vigor
04 Chrysler PT Cruiser
We used to only have the Vigor, which my dad bought in like... 96. During that time I can't really remember much, but my mom used to take public transportation and cabs everywhere. Then maybe around 2000 or 2001, my dad was shopping for a car for my mom, but found an Integra he was in love with (hey, my pops has good taste...) and bought it.
My mom complained and whined about his impulse car purchases, said that she didn't like the Integra (my mom has bad taste with cars, but this is understandable, because she has two X Chromosomes.) So after that ordeal, she ended up with the Vigor and my dad just claimed the Integra. (I think he did that sort of on purpose... lol...)
Life was good. Then the Vigor started having problems. It hit that 10 year mark and bam! The Japanese engineering held the car functionally together, but sheesh... It was back-spewing some funny smelling AC... would be smoking from the engine.. all manner of things.
So I forget the year, but my dad ended up buying my mom a brand new PT Cruiser. I'm assuming it was 04, but to be honest, I don't know exactly. But anyway, he went car shopping with her and they settled on that.
I know he took her with it, cause she loves that ugly ass thing. That is the most feminine car ever. I would definitely not be eager to own one, let alone drive that thing to the grocery store.
So anyway. We had the Vigor in the backyard just idling... collecting rust. Being unusable. I kinda wanted it, but I kinda didn't, but I still kinda did, ya know? Until about last week.
Yeah. Last week my mom spotted a 2006 Acura TL in the driveway. As if one of our triflin neighbors parked it there and left it a few minutes too long. My neighbor, who works in Corrections, said she's run the plates.
Next day, the car was gone, and when my mother asked my neighbor if she found anything out, my neighbor just chuckled and said not to worry about it, my mom would find out later.
Huh... I see... well not really, I didn't think anything of it, because I didn't care.
I did recall my father saying that he "was going to the Acura place" a few days before, but once again, I didn't put the pieces of the puzzle together, because hey, we had an Acura. In fact, we had two, so I just figured he was getting it checked out by our good friend who's the head mechanic at the-
Wait.
He's the head mechanic at the Honda place.
But Honda makes Acura, and it's not uncommon for us to just take the Acuras there to get serviced. Ya know, they are essentiall the same car. (Look it up. In fact, the 92 Vigor looks almost identical to the 92 4-door Accord Sedan... Uncanny....)
But whatever, for something I don't care about that much, I don't listen to context clues to figure out what's going on. It's not like my dad was lying anyway.
Lo and behold, one day I come home and he Vigor is not in the back driveway (we don't have a garage...) and the Integra is parked on the corner and there is a suspiciously-sexy looking TL parked behind it. I didn't think anything of it. I asked my dad about it, but he denied my inquiries.
My father doesn't lie to me. Well, not maliciously or intentionally. However... his indirect way of answering my inquiring wasn't really a dodge, but it was like... A Jedi mind trick. I suddenly stopped caring altogether about it. I hope I get powers like that when I become a father.
But regardless, I came back home around 2 that morning and discovered the car chained up in the drive-way, indicating that I had been effectively Jedied. (Edit: The car is actually an 03 model. So he probably got away cheap with it.)
In light of the recent events, I'm trying to get my parents to pay for my driving lessons and my road test. (See, I can pay for myself, but that's an easy 300 dollars I can save. Keep in mind that I'm only making $600 a week, give or take, and I'm giving my mom half my checks to put away...)
I'm in love with the Integra. I'm probably counting my chickens before they hatch, but from my stand-point, we had two perfectly functional cars, and my dad had no reason to buy another.
Unless I was getting bumped up in the hierarchy of vehicles and I was receiving my own. My father is extremely practical. (I wish I was as well, but I'm such a technofile that I save up my money to blow it all on the gadget I've been saving my money for....) So an impulse buy without research and intention is not something he'd do.
So when it comes down to it, my mom doesn't like Acuras, she loves her PT Cruiser while I hate it, and it's unlikely that I'll get a brand new car. Of course, if my dad wants to give me the TL, more power to him, but I'd probably just ask for the Integra. Granted, he loves the Integra also, and the fact that it's small enough to fit in almost any parking spot might work against me in his decision, but he definitely has a new toy to play with. I noticed that the TL is longer than the Integra, and when he discovers that there are parking spots he can't fit, he might come back to Green Destiny.
I'm hoping to have it by then.
So here's my plan for this behemoth of post-century affordable Japanese Sports-Car Engineering: I'm gonna upgrade, at the same time, the intake and the exhaust system. I'm planning on putting a 2.5" muffler on that bad boy, coupled with a cold-air intake and an intercooler. What I'm trying to to initially is increase the performance and also increase the MPG, because gas is no joke.
I'm not gonna go for the whole tuner thing, because I don't have cash like that, and it's an Automatic LS.
Had it been a Manual Type-R, I'd have stolen it, gotten a job in California and lived the life of a street racer. But it's ok that it's, because I love 4-cylinder V-Tech. (I'm trying not to snicker. I think my sarcasm has gone beyond even my own tolerance levels.)
Therefore, operations such as putting in a new engine, changing the transmission or introducing the car to Forced-Induction are not only the opposite of cost-effective, but they'd ultimately give me nothing to show for it.
If anything, I'm going to go the Naturally Aspirated route and upgrade the pistons and the cam shafts after I work on the intake/exhaust combinations, and then look into the suspension system and tires.
But mainly, what I really want to do is change the body kit and a white paint job on it.
Yeah.
With Red decals.
Have the hood with a big ol "2" on it, a K Diamond on the trunk, The Shield on the right door and "ΛΞ" (Lambda Xi, my undergraduate chapter) on the left door.
Call it the Kappa Kar, or the Deucemobile.
I think it's time for another cup of coffee.
-Because I can.
We're going places next year.
So I'm kinda obsessed with this car... See, the story is as follows:
For a while we had 3 cars in our driveway:
99 Acura Integra LS
92 Acura Vigor
04 Chrysler PT Cruiser
We used to only have the Vigor, which my dad bought in like... 96. During that time I can't really remember much, but my mom used to take public transportation and cabs everywhere. Then maybe around 2000 or 2001, my dad was shopping for a car for my mom, but found an Integra he was in love with (hey, my pops has good taste...) and bought it.
My mom complained and whined about his impulse car purchases, said that she didn't like the Integra (my mom has bad taste with cars, but this is understandable, because she has two X Chromosomes.) So after that ordeal, she ended up with the Vigor and my dad just claimed the Integra. (I think he did that sort of on purpose... lol...)
Life was good. Then the Vigor started having problems. It hit that 10 year mark and bam! The Japanese engineering held the car functionally together, but sheesh... It was back-spewing some funny smelling AC... would be smoking from the engine.. all manner of things.
So I forget the year, but my dad ended up buying my mom a brand new PT Cruiser. I'm assuming it was 04, but to be honest, I don't know exactly. But anyway, he went car shopping with her and they settled on that.
I know he took her with it, cause she loves that ugly ass thing. That is the most feminine car ever. I would definitely not be eager to own one, let alone drive that thing to the grocery store.
So anyway. We had the Vigor in the backyard just idling... collecting rust. Being unusable. I kinda wanted it, but I kinda didn't, but I still kinda did, ya know? Until about last week.
Yeah. Last week my mom spotted a 2006 Acura TL in the driveway. As if one of our triflin neighbors parked it there and left it a few minutes too long. My neighbor, who works in Corrections, said she's run the plates.
Next day, the car was gone, and when my mother asked my neighbor if she found anything out, my neighbor just chuckled and said not to worry about it, my mom would find out later.
Huh... I see... well not really, I didn't think anything of it, because I didn't care.
I did recall my father saying that he "was going to the Acura place" a few days before, but once again, I didn't put the pieces of the puzzle together, because hey, we had an Acura. In fact, we had two, so I just figured he was getting it checked out by our good friend who's the head mechanic at the-
Wait.
He's the head mechanic at the Honda place.
But Honda makes Acura, and it's not uncommon for us to just take the Acuras there to get serviced. Ya know, they are essentiall the same car. (Look it up. In fact, the 92 Vigor looks almost identical to the 92 4-door Accord Sedan... Uncanny....)
But whatever, for something I don't care about that much, I don't listen to context clues to figure out what's going on. It's not like my dad was lying anyway.
Lo and behold, one day I come home and he Vigor is not in the back driveway (we don't have a garage...) and the Integra is parked on the corner and there is a suspiciously-sexy looking TL parked behind it. I didn't think anything of it. I asked my dad about it, but he denied my inquiries.
My father doesn't lie to me. Well, not maliciously or intentionally. However... his indirect way of answering my inquiring wasn't really a dodge, but it was like... A Jedi mind trick. I suddenly stopped caring altogether about it. I hope I get powers like that when I become a father.
But regardless, I came back home around 2 that morning and discovered the car chained up in the drive-way, indicating that I had been effectively Jedied. (Edit: The car is actually an 03 model. So he probably got away cheap with it.)
In light of the recent events, I'm trying to get my parents to pay for my driving lessons and my road test. (See, I can pay for myself, but that's an easy 300 dollars I can save. Keep in mind that I'm only making $600 a week, give or take, and I'm giving my mom half my checks to put away...)
I'm in love with the Integra. I'm probably counting my chickens before they hatch, but from my stand-point, we had two perfectly functional cars, and my dad had no reason to buy another.
Unless I was getting bumped up in the hierarchy of vehicles and I was receiving my own. My father is extremely practical. (I wish I was as well, but I'm such a technofile that I save up my money to blow it all on the gadget I've been saving my money for....) So an impulse buy without research and intention is not something he'd do.
So when it comes down to it, my mom doesn't like Acuras, she loves her PT Cruiser while I hate it, and it's unlikely that I'll get a brand new car. Of course, if my dad wants to give me the TL, more power to him, but I'd probably just ask for the Integra. Granted, he loves the Integra also, and the fact that it's small enough to fit in almost any parking spot might work against me in his decision, but he definitely has a new toy to play with. I noticed that the TL is longer than the Integra, and when he discovers that there are parking spots he can't fit, he might come back to Green Destiny.
I'm hoping to have it by then.
So here's my plan for this behemoth of post-century affordable Japanese Sports-Car Engineering: I'm gonna upgrade, at the same time, the intake and the exhaust system. I'm planning on putting a 2.5" muffler on that bad boy, coupled with a cold-air intake and an intercooler. What I'm trying to to initially is increase the performance and also increase the MPG, because gas is no joke.
I'm not gonna go for the whole tuner thing, because I don't have cash like that, and it's an Automatic LS.
Had it been a Manual Type-R, I'd have stolen it, gotten a job in California and lived the life of a street racer. But it's ok that it's, because I love 4-cylinder V-Tech. (I'm trying not to snicker. I think my sarcasm has gone beyond even my own tolerance levels.)
Therefore, operations such as putting in a new engine, changing the transmission or introducing the car to Forced-Induction are not only the opposite of cost-effective, but they'd ultimately give me nothing to show for it.
If anything, I'm going to go the Naturally Aspirated route and upgrade the pistons and the cam shafts after I work on the intake/exhaust combinations, and then look into the suspension system and tires.
But mainly, what I really want to do is change the body kit and a white paint job on it.
Yeah.
With Red decals.
Have the hood with a big ol "2" on it, a K Diamond on the trunk, The Shield on the right door and "ΛΞ" (Lambda Xi, my undergraduate chapter) on the left door.
Call it the Kappa Kar, or the Deucemobile.
I think it's time for another cup of coffee.
-Because I can.
He Speaks So Well...
To all my Facebook readers, I implore you to read this on the original site, as you will not see a bulk of the post if you do not.
This is a response/follow-up to a previous post of mine and the comment that followed.
Original post is here: Presidential Debate. And while we're on the subject of that, since I am anything but bi-partisan, let me just say that the Republican Debate last night was a joke, and the only thing it prevented me from doing was enjoying the summer reruns of my favorite fall TV shows.
So I instead went to Alluc and watched Gridiron Gangs. Good movie. It definitely touched my heart-strings. But I'll be damned if I'm going to cry in any movie starring The Rock, who has been my personal hero since 6th grade. He was unfortunately ousted almost 4 years ago when Lance Armstrong became my new idol. But let me not go off on a tangent about that. It's not like I won't be posting at least one more time today.
Besides, I haven't even started my first cup of coffee. Moving on...
The title of this blog is such because I'm trying to attract people to read this... And hopefully teach them something. I did some searching and I came across a blog called "Obsidian Potency." The writer expresses the same views that myself and TDH have, except he goes more in-depth because he is presumably older and has a lot more wisdom to pull from. Here is his own post: "He speaks so well! He's so well-spoken!" - wherin he has a fortitude of knowledge just ripe for picking and consumption.
At the beginning of the article he was discussing how he was all for supporting Joe Biden. (Joe Biden is a decent candidate, to be honest, but I'm just so much more of a fan of Obama. I can't see myself marching towards glory for Red, White and Blue for anyone other than Barak...)
Then Biden said that Barak was, "the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy." In actuality, when you dissect what the term means, the tone in which it comes out and the context in which it's used, when this phrase is uttered, it's implying that the listener is shocked when an African-American speaks with well. Biden might as well have said, "he shure is clean fur a nigra!"
"As bad as that is coming from a white person, I can kinda laugh at that brand of racism. Usually, it's not intended to be harmful, and black people have experienced much worse forms over the course of history. It's typically not worth getting worked up over."
The blogger raises a good point. Who are we to care about whether or not people are shocked that we speak well? Then he throws the reader this curve ball.
"You really want to piss me off? Tell me that I'm not black. You will have succeeded. In fact, you might just have lined yourself up for an ass-whooping."
Eugene Robinson makes a good point in this article, stating in response, "Will wonders never cease? Here we have a man who graduated from Columbia University, who was president of the Harvard Law Review, who serves in the U.S. Senate and is the author of two best-selling books, who's a leading contender for the Democratic presidential nomination, and what do you know, he turns out to be articulate. Stop the presses."
Now, I'd go and post some more quotes, but it turns out that I'd just regurgitate his entire article on my blog. So please go check it out and read his other work, that guy is a fantastic read. Further reading of Obsidian Potency reveals this quote, and this quotes holds specific weight with me due to the striking accuracy of it's words.
"As damaging as that sentiment is coming from a white person, it's even worse when used by one black person to another. A black person calling another person not black' or 'white' is the most self-defeating, poisonous, playing-into-the-oppressor's-hands sentiment that I can imagine. And it's happened to me."
TDH stated yesterday that the outwardly urban youth on the bus become suddenly polite when not surrounded by his peers, even attempting to finish some of his calculus homework. However, when a group of associates of his came within earshot, he hustled to evade their detection of him being intelligent, lest he be labeled, "not black."
I'll say this: It is my hope that you all, my faithful audience, view me as an intelligent person (to some degree). That's why I hope you're not shocked with this next statement. Calculas is fucking hard. I gave up in math in college. I took Quantitative Analysis and my GPA is suffering because of it. Sure, I'm a Network Engineer, but God dammit, we have computers do all the math for us. If I never see another math class again, it'll be too soon.
Therefore, to know anyone that can understand the abstract concept of getting numbers and letters to co-exist and create equations, while understanding what the hell is going on without resorting to copping out with the blue pill, all the time yelling, "fuck this shit!":
You have my utmost respect.
Because math is fucking hard. I don't care what you think about me from now on, I had to say it.
Moving on... (On a side note, I started this blog at 0940, and due to cross-linking and the research I do when I write, it is now 1020. Safe to say the coffee is settling in. I just hope I don't ramble too much from here on...)
I'm only 19, and pretty much throughout my entire educational experience, my own peers, fellow African Americans, constantly tried to impress upon me that I, "was not Black." Yes, because I didn't have the hottest sneakers, the freshest clothes, or knew the lyrics to the newest songs. In addition, I wasn't much of a fan of the mentality that is so prevalent among "children of the inner-city," and that includes but is not limited to, fighting, cussing, stealing, women degradation, and general ignorance of actions and beliefs.
Blame the fact that I had two fantastic parents who constantly instilled upon me good morals, values and standards. Blame the fact that unlike so many of my peers, I had a father who gave a shit about my upbringing and set a fantastic example that I aspire to, or blame it on my mother, who's influence showed me what a real woman is, what responsibility is, and what it means to be a caring Black man. Hell, you can even go so far as to blame the fact that I am a part of an organization who, since 1911, has been fashioning achievement as its goal, and has lived by the values of Phi Nu Pi for almost a century, uplifting Black men from all walks of life nationwide.
You, faithful reader, can look at all the aspects and realize that the common idea of what it means to be, "Black," is nothing more than misguided insight that seeks to further entrench our people in the stereotypes that have kept us mentally enslaved when the shackles were released.
If you ask me, this started way back when the slave masters cunningly turned the Field Slaves against the House Slaves, but that'll be a post for later.
Maybe tomorrow.
I'll let you know after my next cup of coffee.
"Coming from a black person, the notion that dark-skinned people who speak without trace of an accent or ebonic slang, who spend a great deal of time with people of other races, who get good grades, who don't join relatively pointless, race-based organizations in grade school, and who dress certain ways or listen to certain music are white is setting black people back a hundred years.
"That kind of brainless, short-sighted perspective is poison. Blind conformity is poison. Telling someone who knows where they come from that they aren't black enough is poison. If you're black and you find yourself routinely saying things like that, you might as well put on a pointy white hood and join the KKK. It's those attitudes that lead to so many black men getting shot or winding up in jail -- 'I have to represent, I have to keep it real, I have to maintain my street cred.'
"I doubt white supremacists have ever come up with a more effective way to keep black people down than turning black people against each other with the 'soft' or 'sellout' tag. And it's even worse because we're supposed to be on the same team. " [Quoted from Obsidian Potency.]
I'm only 19 years old. I'll be 20 in August. And yet, I don't think I've seen half of what the world has to throw at me. Life is a test, life is a struggle. But you know what the most important concept in the world is to me?
Maturity. Maturity is what you do when you think no one is watching. Throughout all of what I've been through, I can still look at myself in the mirror and be confident knowing that I am still Renaldo, I am what I make myself to be, and no one is going to make me change.
Newsflash: If you can't appreciate me for who I am and you want me to change, you can go somewhere else with that. I'm not changing for anyone, let alone someone who doesn't understand who I am, where I came from, what I'm trying to do and where I'm going.
So fuck you all, I love grammar, punctuation, diction and oration.
I'm only going to change for the better, not your image of, "who or what I should be and do."
-Because I can.
[On a side note: Race is hilarious. I just read an article that states how CVS has anti-theft tag on hair products targeted towards Black people and not on the ones targeted towards white people. See that, I can end things on a good note.]
This is a response/follow-up to a previous post of mine and the comment that followed.
Original post is here: Presidential Debate. And while we're on the subject of that, since I am anything but bi-partisan, let me just say that the Republican Debate last night was a joke, and the only thing it prevented me from doing was enjoying the summer reruns of my favorite fall TV shows.
So I instead went to Alluc and watched Gridiron Gangs. Good movie. It definitely touched my heart-strings. But I'll be damned if I'm going to cry in any movie starring The Rock, who has been my personal hero since 6th grade. He was unfortunately ousted almost 4 years ago when Lance Armstrong became my new idol. But let me not go off on a tangent about that. It's not like I won't be posting at least one more time today.
Besides, I haven't even started my first cup of coffee. Moving on...
The title of this blog is such because I'm trying to attract people to read this... And hopefully teach them something. I did some searching and I came across a blog called "Obsidian Potency." The writer expresses the same views that myself and TDH have, except he goes more in-depth because he is presumably older and has a lot more wisdom to pull from. Here is his own post: "He speaks so well! He's so well-spoken!" - wherin he has a fortitude of knowledge just ripe for picking and consumption.
At the beginning of the article he was discussing how he was all for supporting Joe Biden. (Joe Biden is a decent candidate, to be honest, but I'm just so much more of a fan of Obama. I can't see myself marching towards glory for Red, White and Blue for anyone other than Barak...)
Then Biden said that Barak was, "the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy." In actuality, when you dissect what the term means, the tone in which it comes out and the context in which it's used, when this phrase is uttered, it's implying that the listener is shocked when an African-American speaks with well. Biden might as well have said, "he shure is clean fur a nigra!"
"As bad as that is coming from a white person, I can kinda laugh at that brand of racism. Usually, it's not intended to be harmful, and black people have experienced much worse forms over the course of history. It's typically not worth getting worked up over."
The blogger raises a good point. Who are we to care about whether or not people are shocked that we speak well? Then he throws the reader this curve ball.
"You really want to piss me off? Tell me that I'm not black. You will have succeeded. In fact, you might just have lined yourself up for an ass-whooping."
Eugene Robinson makes a good point in this article, stating in response, "Will wonders never cease? Here we have a man who graduated from Columbia University, who was president of the Harvard Law Review, who serves in the U.S. Senate and is the author of two best-selling books, who's a leading contender for the Democratic presidential nomination, and what do you know, he turns out to be articulate. Stop the presses."
Now, I'd go and post some more quotes, but it turns out that I'd just regurgitate his entire article on my blog. So please go check it out and read his other work, that guy is a fantastic read. Further reading of Obsidian Potency reveals this quote, and this quotes holds specific weight with me due to the striking accuracy of it's words.
"As damaging as that sentiment is coming from a white person, it's even worse when used by one black person to another. A black person calling another person not black' or 'white' is the most self-defeating, poisonous, playing-into-the-oppressor's-hands sentiment that I can imagine. And it's happened to me."
TDH stated yesterday that the outwardly urban youth on the bus become suddenly polite when not surrounded by his peers, even attempting to finish some of his calculus homework. However, when a group of associates of his came within earshot, he hustled to evade their detection of him being intelligent, lest he be labeled, "not black."
I'll say this: It is my hope that you all, my faithful audience, view me as an intelligent person (to some degree). That's why I hope you're not shocked with this next statement. Calculas is fucking hard. I gave up in math in college. I took Quantitative Analysis and my GPA is suffering because of it. Sure, I'm a Network Engineer, but God dammit, we have computers do all the math for us. If I never see another math class again, it'll be too soon.
Therefore, to know anyone that can understand the abstract concept of getting numbers and letters to co-exist and create equations, while understanding what the hell is going on without resorting to copping out with the blue pill, all the time yelling, "fuck this shit!":
You have my utmost respect.
Because math is fucking hard. I don't care what you think about me from now on, I had to say it.
Moving on... (On a side note, I started this blog at 0940, and due to cross-linking and the research I do when I write, it is now 1020. Safe to say the coffee is settling in. I just hope I don't ramble too much from here on...)
I'm only 19, and pretty much throughout my entire educational experience, my own peers, fellow African Americans, constantly tried to impress upon me that I, "was not Black." Yes, because I didn't have the hottest sneakers, the freshest clothes, or knew the lyrics to the newest songs. In addition, I wasn't much of a fan of the mentality that is so prevalent among "children of the inner-city," and that includes but is not limited to, fighting, cussing, stealing, women degradation, and general ignorance of actions and beliefs.
Blame the fact that I had two fantastic parents who constantly instilled upon me good morals, values and standards. Blame the fact that unlike so many of my peers, I had a father who gave a shit about my upbringing and set a fantastic example that I aspire to, or blame it on my mother, who's influence showed me what a real woman is, what responsibility is, and what it means to be a caring Black man. Hell, you can even go so far as to blame the fact that I am a part of an organization who, since 1911, has been fashioning achievement as its goal, and has lived by the values of Phi Nu Pi for almost a century, uplifting Black men from all walks of life nationwide.
You, faithful reader, can look at all the aspects and realize that the common idea of what it means to be, "Black," is nothing more than misguided insight that seeks to further entrench our people in the stereotypes that have kept us mentally enslaved when the shackles were released.
If you ask me, this started way back when the slave masters cunningly turned the Field Slaves against the House Slaves, but that'll be a post for later.
Maybe tomorrow.
I'll let you know after my next cup of coffee.
"Coming from a black person, the notion that dark-skinned people who speak without trace of an accent or ebonic slang, who spend a great deal of time with people of other races, who get good grades, who don't join relatively pointless, race-based organizations in grade school, and who dress certain ways or listen to certain music are white is setting black people back a hundred years.
"That kind of brainless, short-sighted perspective is poison. Blind conformity is poison. Telling someone who knows where they come from that they aren't black enough is poison. If you're black and you find yourself routinely saying things like that, you might as well put on a pointy white hood and join the KKK. It's those attitudes that lead to so many black men getting shot or winding up in jail -- 'I have to represent, I have to keep it real, I have to maintain my street cred.'
"I doubt white supremacists have ever come up with a more effective way to keep black people down than turning black people against each other with the 'soft' or 'sellout' tag. And it's even worse because we're supposed to be on the same team. " [Quoted from Obsidian Potency.]
I'm only 19 years old. I'll be 20 in August. And yet, I don't think I've seen half of what the world has to throw at me. Life is a test, life is a struggle. But you know what the most important concept in the world is to me?
Maturity. Maturity is what you do when you think no one is watching. Throughout all of what I've been through, I can still look at myself in the mirror and be confident knowing that I am still Renaldo, I am what I make myself to be, and no one is going to make me change.
Newsflash: If you can't appreciate me for who I am and you want me to change, you can go somewhere else with that. I'm not changing for anyone, let alone someone who doesn't understand who I am, where I came from, what I'm trying to do and where I'm going.
So fuck you all, I love grammar, punctuation, diction and oration.
I'm only going to change for the better, not your image of, "who or what I should be and do."
-Because I can.
[On a side note: Race is hilarious. I just read an article that states how CVS has anti-theft tag on hair products targeted towards Black people and not on the ones targeted towards white people. See that, I can end things on a good note.]
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Flavia
The source of my salvation and my slavery. (Facebook readers, click on the original post to see the link.)
This is probably the craziest invention ever. It is at the same time the best and the worse thing to happen to offices.
Now, not only are there no messes to clean, but for the most part, everyone can have a blend of coffee that they like, without worrying about mixture from the previous person(s).
Simply put, there are individual packets of coffee blends that go through the blend making process (I have no idea how coffee is made, so you'll have to Wikipedia that yourself...). These packs are sealed individually so that oxygen does not affect the freshness. You put these packs in the coffee maker, make the right settings (ie - half a cup, a full cup, tea, hot cocoa, Espresso shot... etc.) and press the button.
The coffee maker shoots hot water through the pack itself, that has it's own mesh at the bottom, providing some sort of space-age self-filtration unit, the type that we would only see on Star Trek: Voyager, or at the very least, Andromeda.
This blessed technology - that can only have come from some Freudian-based future Utopia where Coffee is free and is the source of fuel for our vehicles and homes - has affected companies nationwide.
For all the time we save away from the break room sipping on the delicious beverage that is the sole reason for our increased productivity, we are able to pay homage to the Flavia spirits, who have shown us infinite mercy with blessing us with their device that was only told of in dreams.
The type of dreams that children have. The types of dreams that only the innocent and unsaturated can see, lest the tainted hearts of others fail to comprehend the pure magnificence that is only beheld by the souls of the unashamed.
Such technology comes at the cost of creating insanity amongst we, who are unworthy of its power. In their infinite foresight, the spirits of the Office Space have set up rules. It is due to these rules that the very fabric of society is held in place and pandemonium does not rip us from the heart of sanity, causing us to run through the streets like caffeine deprived maniacs on a mission to find Valhalla.
In addition to the "Last one in closes the door," and the "last one who drinks the milk replaces it," rules, the spirits have blessed us with Guidebook 2.0*.
*Guidebook 1.8 was the latest edition; they skipped 1.9 after finding out that those versions weren't compatible with Vista. But then again, what is these days?
Go figure.
The supreme rule of the domain of NIS, where we sheathe our swords and conduct business like gentlemen, is a monumentally important one. It is because of the foundation of this rule that we continue to co-exist, working together to create a more brighter future for the world in which we command over.
This rule is simple, "He who makes the next cup of coffee replaces the packet of the previous user." Indisputable by decree of our Grand Supreme Leader - who's importance is signified by the fact that when he speaks, his words are formatted in bold, Red Plain Text - this rule, nay, this law is the sole defining factor that separates us from the pack. A hierarchy based on coffee precedence is created, and the defining factor is that no one complains. We accept it as fact.
When the world never seems to be living up to your dreams, it's time you started finding out what everything is about. Ya see, cause the world don't move to the beat of just one drum. What may be right for you, might not be right for some. Ya take the good, ya take the bad, ya take em both, and there ya have:
Flavia.
Or something like that.
I'm up to my 3rd cup of coffee since 9am. I think I need to stop.
I have to go to sleep to night. I think.
-Because I can.
This is probably the craziest invention ever. It is at the same time the best and the worse thing to happen to offices.
Now, not only are there no messes to clean, but for the most part, everyone can have a blend of coffee that they like, without worrying about mixture from the previous person(s).
Simply put, there are individual packets of coffee blends that go through the blend making process (I have no idea how coffee is made, so you'll have to Wikipedia that yourself...). These packs are sealed individually so that oxygen does not affect the freshness. You put these packs in the coffee maker, make the right settings (ie - half a cup, a full cup, tea, hot cocoa, Espresso shot... etc.) and press the button.
The coffee maker shoots hot water through the pack itself, that has it's own mesh at the bottom, providing some sort of space-age self-filtration unit, the type that we would only see on Star Trek: Voyager, or at the very least, Andromeda.
This blessed technology - that can only have come from some Freudian-based future Utopia where Coffee is free and is the source of fuel for our vehicles and homes - has affected companies nationwide.
For all the time we save away from the break room sipping on the delicious beverage that is the sole reason for our increased productivity, we are able to pay homage to the Flavia spirits, who have shown us infinite mercy with blessing us with their device that was only told of in dreams.
The type of dreams that children have. The types of dreams that only the innocent and unsaturated can see, lest the tainted hearts of others fail to comprehend the pure magnificence that is only beheld by the souls of the unashamed.
Such technology comes at the cost of creating insanity amongst we, who are unworthy of its power. In their infinite foresight, the spirits of the Office Space have set up rules. It is due to these rules that the very fabric of society is held in place and pandemonium does not rip us from the heart of sanity, causing us to run through the streets like caffeine deprived maniacs on a mission to find Valhalla.
In addition to the "Last one in closes the door," and the "last one who drinks the milk replaces it," rules, the spirits have blessed us with Guidebook 2.0*.
*Guidebook 1.8 was the latest edition; they skipped 1.9 after finding out that those versions weren't compatible with Vista. But then again, what is these days?
Go figure.
The supreme rule of the domain of NIS, where we sheathe our swords and conduct business like gentlemen, is a monumentally important one. It is because of the foundation of this rule that we continue to co-exist, working together to create a more brighter future for the world in which we command over.
This rule is simple, "He who makes the next cup of coffee replaces the packet of the previous user." Indisputable by decree of our Grand Supreme Leader - who's importance is signified by the fact that when he speaks, his words are formatted in bold, Red Plain Text - this rule, nay, this law is the sole defining factor that separates us from the pack. A hierarchy based on coffee precedence is created, and the defining factor is that no one complains. We accept it as fact.
When the world never seems to be living up to your dreams, it's time you started finding out what everything is about. Ya see, cause the world don't move to the beat of just one drum. What may be right for you, might not be right for some. Ya take the good, ya take the bad, ya take em both, and there ya have:
Flavia.
Or something like that.
I'm up to my 3rd cup of coffee since 9am. I think I need to stop.
I have to go to sleep to night. I think.
-Because I can.
Dawn Breaks
He stood on the edge of the cliff, peering down on the town of Nurosagi, a melancholy look displayed on his face. As the winds of the morning changed and began to blow east, the distant cries of the dying townsfolk reached his ears. He felt like smirking, and letting out a laugh that could only come from the inner reaches of a tormented and demented soul, but there was still work to be done. In only a few hours, the town would be reduced to nothing but cinder and ashes, and he needed to be far away by the time General Shinto's army reached the forest.
A small speck that was off in the distance began to fly closer to him, and his eyes lit up with anticipation. He pulled out his binoculars and was pleased to see that his hawk, Kenobi, had returned and was bringing a message with him. Kenobi landed and his owner petted him affectionately as he happy began to pick at a rabbit that had been caught for him while he was away on his mission.
The man looked up at the burning town of Nurosagi, having finished reading his message, and turned and began to walk into the forest. He threw he shawl over his shoulder and picked up his traveling pack. The sun began to peak over the distant mountains in the east and illuminated the fields of Tamporia for miles. There was much work to be done, and not enough time in all of Filgaia to accomplish it. He had to find help.
He had to find Orion.
The man looked up at the burning town of Nurosagi, having finished reading his message, and turned and began to walk into the forest. He threw he shawl over his shoulder and picked up his traveling pack. The sun began to peak over the distant mountains in the east and illuminated the fields of Tamporia for miles. There was much work to be done, and not enough time in all of Filgaia to accomplish it. He had to find help.
He had to find Orion.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Coffee
So here is my morning (after the previous post, I actually started to plug away at work.) The coffees in our office are labeled in strength from 1-7.
Ren: *Looking in the kitchen* ("Well House Roast is labeled as a three... I wonder what else we have.")
Ren: *Finds the Espresso* ("Oh shoot, FIVE? Hmm... Might as well try it..."
Ren: *Goes to Steve's office* "Steve, you ever try this stuff?"
Steve: *Looks up* "Which one is that?"
Ren: "Erm, Espresso."
Steve: "No, I've never gone above a three with those things."
Ren: "Oh ok. Me neither. I've been drinking House Blend. That's a three as well."
Ren: "This one is a five though..."
Steve: "Are you sure? That's Espresso... You'll be wired all day."
Ren: "Might as well try it."
Steve: "That's gonna put hair in places you don't want it."
Ren: *laughs back to the kitchen.* "Well I'll be here all day!"
So yeah, about 30 minutes later, i'm pretty wide awake and my heart was kinda racing... It was somewhat stronger than House Blend, but not really...
Then I stood up.
Holy shyt.
This stuff is awesome. Now I understand America's infatuation with Coffee.
Ren: *writing an email to Steve* (he was on a Conference Call in his office) ("You were right about the Espresso... This stuff is bad. Never again.")
Steve's Email: "Hair on your chest."
Ren: *giggles like a school girl.*
So I'm gonna rock with this espresso stuff for the rest of the week.
Next week I'm gonna try "Sunatra."
It's rated as a SIX.
That's gonna be phenominal.
Until I find the Seven Blend.
But I'm not trying to die, so I'll stay away from that.
-Because I can.
Edit: Espresso doesn't have an "X" in it.... Damn Espresso.
Ren: *Looking in the kitchen* ("Well House Roast is labeled as a three... I wonder what else we have.")
Ren: *Finds the Espresso* ("Oh shoot, FIVE? Hmm... Might as well try it..."
Ren: *Goes to Steve's office* "Steve, you ever try this stuff?"
Steve: *Looks up* "Which one is that?"
Ren: "Erm, Espresso."
Steve: "No, I've never gone above a three with those things."
Ren: "Oh ok. Me neither. I've been drinking House Blend. That's a three as well."
Ren: "This one is a five though..."
Steve: "Are you sure? That's Espresso... You'll be wired all day."
Ren: "Might as well try it."
Steve: "That's gonna put hair in places you don't want it."
Ren: *laughs back to the kitchen.* "Well I'll be here all day!"
So yeah, about 30 minutes later, i'm pretty wide awake and my heart was kinda racing... It was somewhat stronger than House Blend, but not really...
Then I stood up.
Holy shyt.
This stuff is awesome. Now I understand America's infatuation with Coffee.
Ren: *writing an email to Steve* (he was on a Conference Call in his office) ("You were right about the Espresso... This stuff is bad. Never again.")
Steve's Email: "Hair on your chest."
Ren: *giggles like a school girl.*
So I'm gonna rock with this espresso stuff for the rest of the week.
Next week I'm gonna try "Sunatra."
It's rated as a SIX.
That's gonna be phenominal.
Until I find the Seven Blend.
But I'm not trying to die, so I'll stay away from that.
-Because I can.
Edit: Espresso doesn't have an "X" in it.... Damn Espresso.
Presidential Debate
It was in NH last night. Before I begin, let me just link you to some decent articles, because I am highly biased right now. :-D
An article by the Cornell Sun
Seattle Times
Bayou Buzz
Firstly, let me again apoligize for not posting. It's good to be back.
The Atlantic Ocean is cold..... ._.
Anyway, moving on! Honestly, I'm not sure of the demographic of my good buddy TDH, so I'll try to respond to this the best I kan. From talking to him, I see that he is well educated, and his comment on my last post raises a very interesting topic that I want to talk about.
Words are interesting. How we use them, how we perceive them, and how they get warped as time goes on is very interesting.
I like what TDH said here, "My only concern is that Obama's just black enough for racism to cause problems in the southern red states, but not black enough to get black folks to go to the polls." This whole phrase of "not black enough," is a completely true, but terrible statement.
For my demographic to have come so far, but not far enough where we congradulate those who are educated is sad. At the moment, Obama is well-receieved nationally. His oratory skills, his insight into the situations of middle class and lower class families is remarkable, and he has the type of personality that draws you in.
However, I can't help but shake the fact that in a few months time, we'll be privy to the Spin-Machine that is the media, and all of a sudden, less informed people will hear that he is, "not black enough."
I hate that term. I was subject to it in High School and it wasn't a fun time. Because of the fact that I didn't listen explictly to rap, my pants didn't hang off my ass and I didn't have the most expensive sneakers or the newest Jordans, in addition to the fact that I was rather scholarly...
For the most part, looking back on it, I am personally angry at my peers for subjecting me to that sort of ridicule, and it made me realize that even in an "advanced," class, there will always be those who seek to cause conflict amongst their peers. That's the sad truth, and I'm preparing my brother for it, because honestly, I see so much of myself in him.
That is why whenever I hear that Obama, "isn't black enough," it reminds me of how simply he has been broken down by the media who overlooks his accomplishments and his ideals to the matter of race. Obama has achieved a lot in his lifetime, but naturally, when a minority background is in the equation, those things get broken down.
He's not longer seen as a fantastic orator anymore Rather, " he speaks well for a Black man." Or he's so, "well-spoken for."
It's a shame that in 2008, everything comes down to race, and not ability. I didn't mean to ramble on too long about myself, but I'm in a field where I've learned it's not how smart you are, but it's "how are you smart?" My co-workers are multicultural, and they all seem to get along just fine, because they all have a common goal. It's a shame that the country can't work like this all the time.
Moving on, about our words... The best example I can think of is one that I told my cousin not too long ago. You see, it's common knowledge in "urban," or "inner-city," neighborhoods that if you witness a crime committed, you don't speak of it. "No Snitching." That's the "code" of the hood.
Someone get's shot, it was probably over beef, and no one knows anything. This insane method of thinking has been perpetrated by a class of oppressors, and has gone on for so long that it has become common knowledge and seeks to further entrench bad values in the heads of our youth.
This "code" is not only wrong, but it's based off of the misinterpretation of the English language. The definition of a snitch is "to turn informer; tattle." Pretty much, a snitch was a person who committed a crime with another (or more) person(s), and to get off easier, they gave up the rest of the entourage. This definition has been warped and twisted and further perpetrated by the culture.
Common examples are Lil Kim, who went to jail over a firearms dispute involving her. She went to jail, "cause she didn't snitch on her homies." She was "lookin out."
Rapper Cam'ron got shot in both his arms, and did not co-operate with the Police, and Juelz Santana (fellow rapper and protege) supported this decision, citing: "It's not in our nature. He isn't going to stand up and point out a guy in a witness line and say, 'That is the dude who shot me.' We all came from the street..."
Granted, there are a wealth of practical reasons for not cooperating, and they include supporting the highly unfair penal system that only seeks to institutionalize our brothers and sisters, and things such as the chance that an investigation might uncover the reasons behind the incident, possibly resulting in self-incrimination. But in most situations, Police can't even get cooperation from the victims, let alone bystanders who happened to be there.
Fuck that. If I see someone get shot in my neighborhood, and the Police question me, I'll be honest. I refuse to be a victim in my own neighborhood.
I could go on and on, but I'm at work and things need to be done. So for more insight into the "Stop Snitching" mentality, check these links.
For God's Sake, Start Snitching
Ghetto Stupidity
Drug War Roots
Now if you'll excuse me, I need more coffee.
Best invention in the world, that stuff.
Anyway, I hope you guys do the same for your morals, because I know that I'll continue to do right by my own personal beliefs.
-Because I can.
An article by the Cornell Sun
Seattle Times
Bayou Buzz
Firstly, let me again apoligize for not posting. It's good to be back.
The Atlantic Ocean is cold..... ._.
Anyway, moving on! Honestly, I'm not sure of the demographic of my good buddy TDH, so I'll try to respond to this the best I kan. From talking to him, I see that he is well educated, and his comment on my last post raises a very interesting topic that I want to talk about.
Words are interesting. How we use them, how we perceive them, and how they get warped as time goes on is very interesting.
I like what TDH said here, "My only concern is that Obama's just black enough for racism to cause problems in the southern red states, but not black enough to get black folks to go to the polls." This whole phrase of "not black enough," is a completely true, but terrible statement.
For my demographic to have come so far, but not far enough where we congradulate those who are educated is sad. At the moment, Obama is well-receieved nationally. His oratory skills, his insight into the situations of middle class and lower class families is remarkable, and he has the type of personality that draws you in.
However, I can't help but shake the fact that in a few months time, we'll be privy to the Spin-Machine that is the media, and all of a sudden, less informed people will hear that he is, "not black enough."
I hate that term. I was subject to it in High School and it wasn't a fun time. Because of the fact that I didn't listen explictly to rap, my pants didn't hang off my ass and I didn't have the most expensive sneakers or the newest Jordans, in addition to the fact that I was rather scholarly...
For the most part, looking back on it, I am personally angry at my peers for subjecting me to that sort of ridicule, and it made me realize that even in an "advanced," class, there will always be those who seek to cause conflict amongst their peers. That's the sad truth, and I'm preparing my brother for it, because honestly, I see so much of myself in him.
That is why whenever I hear that Obama, "isn't black enough," it reminds me of how simply he has been broken down by the media who overlooks his accomplishments and his ideals to the matter of race. Obama has achieved a lot in his lifetime, but naturally, when a minority background is in the equation, those things get broken down.
He's not longer seen as a fantastic orator anymore Rather, " he speaks well for a Black man." Or he's so, "well-spoken for."
It's a shame that in 2008, everything comes down to race, and not ability. I didn't mean to ramble on too long about myself, but I'm in a field where I've learned it's not how smart you are, but it's "how are you smart?" My co-workers are multicultural, and they all seem to get along just fine, because they all have a common goal. It's a shame that the country can't work like this all the time.
Moving on, about our words... The best example I can think of is one that I told my cousin not too long ago. You see, it's common knowledge in "urban," or "inner-city," neighborhoods that if you witness a crime committed, you don't speak of it. "No Snitching." That's the "code" of the hood.
Someone get's shot, it was probably over beef, and no one knows anything. This insane method of thinking has been perpetrated by a class of oppressors, and has gone on for so long that it has become common knowledge and seeks to further entrench bad values in the heads of our youth.
This "code" is not only wrong, but it's based off of the misinterpretation of the English language. The definition of a snitch is "to turn informer; tattle." Pretty much, a snitch was a person who committed a crime with another (or more) person(s), and to get off easier, they gave up the rest of the entourage. This definition has been warped and twisted and further perpetrated by the culture.
Common examples are Lil Kim, who went to jail over a firearms dispute involving her. She went to jail, "cause she didn't snitch on her homies." She was "lookin out."
Rapper Cam'ron got shot in both his arms, and did not co-operate with the Police, and Juelz Santana (fellow rapper and protege) supported this decision, citing: "It's not in our nature. He isn't going to stand up and point out a guy in a witness line and say, 'That is the dude who shot me.' We all came from the street..."
Granted, there are a wealth of practical reasons for not cooperating, and they include supporting the highly unfair penal system that only seeks to institutionalize our brothers and sisters, and things such as the chance that an investigation might uncover the reasons behind the incident, possibly resulting in self-incrimination. But in most situations, Police can't even get cooperation from the victims, let alone bystanders who happened to be there.
Fuck that. If I see someone get shot in my neighborhood, and the Police question me, I'll be honest. I refuse to be a victim in my own neighborhood.
I could go on and on, but I'm at work and things need to be done. So for more insight into the "Stop Snitching" mentality, check these links.
For God's Sake, Start Snitching
Ghetto Stupidity
Drug War Roots
Now if you'll excuse me, I need more coffee.
Best invention in the world, that stuff.
Anyway, I hope you guys do the same for your morals, because I know that I'll continue to do right by my own personal beliefs.
-Because I can.
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