“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: February 08, 2004

Saturday, February 14, 2004

For all those HALO fans out there, Jay got a system link cable and another copy of HALO today. We were playing system-link from two different rooms. If you're in the area and want to throw down then come on over. And bring a controller, we only have two.

Friday, February 13, 2004

So we get back from our usual late night haunt, the Mountaineer Restaurant on 7th, which is conveniently open 24-7 for us vampire-slacker types, and I turn on the TV. What followed was glorious.

Yes, what to my wondering eyes should appear but full on nudity! I had forgotten that I had left the TV on Skinemax. Quickly checking the digital-cable guide I find that we're watching "The Lord of the G-Strings: Femaleship of the String" starring Misty Mundae.

I provided the links just to prove I didn't make it up.

I'll have to write more later. After I think long and hard on it...



Huh-huh, I said long and hard...

Thursday, February 12, 2004

Got another cool game from Rich. Check it out.

Good news abounds! As part of the blog's anniversary extravaganza, I was about to write an angry post about how my fucking Blogger Archive never worked. So I click the link and, get this, THE GODDAMN THING WORKS!

How this came to pass I'll never know for sure. I can only assume it had something to do with my signing up with HaloScan for my comment service. The only other explaination is that maybe I've gotten so good at HTML that I accidentally fixed it myself.

Yeah, I'm going with the HaloScan theory too. God knows it wasn't fucking Blogger. They suck.

So check out my Archives to see just how little I've matured over the last year. And remember, I've just posted about things going well in my life. Nothing good ever comes from that.

I have just bitch-slapped Fate.

Hillarity will ensue.

Wednesday, February 11, 2004

This just in:

Woman marries dead boyfriend
February 11, 2004 - 9:02AM

A 35-year-old Frenchwoman became both bride and widow when she married her dead boyfriend, in an exchange of vows that required authorisation from the French president.

The ceremony was performed at Nice City Hall on the French Riviera.

The deceased groom, a former policeman identified as Eric, was not present at the ceremony. He was killed by a drunk driver in September 2002.

Demichel told LCI television she was fully aware that "it could seem shocking to marry someone who is dead", but said that her fiance's absence from her life had not dimmed her feelings for him.

According to French law, a marriage between a living person and a dead person can take place as long as preliminary civic formalities have been completed that show the couple had planned to marry. Before the ceremony can take place, it must be approved by the French president.

AP

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He, who can call today his own;
He, who secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Be fair or foul, or rain, or shine
The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not heaven itself upon the past has power;
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.


-Horace, Odes III, 29.41


I've always liked that verse, though it's a little more positive than the stuff I'm usually into. Sure it's about a guy facing an uncertain future or possibly his own mortality, but it has a certain "Fuck you, I'm not going out like that bey-otch!" quality to it that I love. I bet that's what Horace had in mind too. Drinkin' a 40, swingin' a gat and writing some muthafuckin' odes, punk-fool!

Anyways, (God I need to move out of the ghetto) I posted it because I'm feeling rather positive today. I'm still basking in the glow of my freshly fixed car, I managed to fix my washing machine myself for only 20 bucks, I found out that my stocks are worth more than I thought so I actually DO have enough to get my surgery done if I can just schedule it, I actually managed to get my car inspected, despite my fucking car window STILL being fucking frozen in the fucking down position, and I have a stiffy from watching Natalie Portman's fine ass in Star Wars: Episode II again.

Life is good.

Of course, I'm damn near 30, I'm single, my credit is shit, I live in the ghetto, I'm going to have to spend all of my savings to fix my body back to simply being it's worthless old self, my fucking car window is STILL fucking frozen in the fucking down position, AND for every shot of Natalie Portman's beautifully bared midriff I get an equal part of C3PO's brassy, gay, ass. (Not that I have a problem with gay robots, I just don't swing that way).

I've changed my mind. Life really blows.

Monday, February 09, 2004

I was watching E! a little while ago, Howard Stern's show, and I saw an ad for the Oscars red carpet show. It was, as allways, hosted by the gorgon that is Joan Rivers.

I think I've expressed my feelings on Joan Rivers and her halfwit daughter on more than one occasion. Something about stunning her with her own reflection and then beheading her. Anyways, I think she has now officially had more plastic surgery than Michael Jackson. Not that Jackson's surgeons are slacking off or anything, I think they're both having work done at the maximum possible limit, it's just that Rivers has been doing it longer because she's FUCKING OLD.

Old, and completely untalented in every way. To top that off she now looks like an impressionistic painter's interpretation of a tweyntysomething year old.

Yes, yes, we live in a culture obsessed with youth, yes, Hollywood is the worst example of this, yes, you have to have work done to be successful in the entertainment industry, but unless that surgeon stuffs a sense of humor and a less annoying voice in that skull as a part of the next face lift what's the fucking point? Who keeps thinking "Let's get Joan Rivers! She's current and relevant!".

Things like this are why I hate Hollywood producers.

On an interesting side note, the following commercial was for penis enlarging pills. The last thing I want to think of in conjunction with Joan River's drum-tightly stretched ass is my penis. Rivers is firmly on my list of women I would NOT have sex with. Her, the crazy woman across the street from us that yells incoherently at passers by and that creepy old woman on late night cable that talks about vibrators. That's all I can think of right now, but I can assure you there are others.

One last thought on Joan Rivers, you think there's a picture of her in the attic that's having plastic surgery UNDONE to it?

No that wasn't a reference to League Of Extrordinary Gentlemen. It's a reference to "The Picture Of Dorian Grey" by Oscar Wilde. It's called a book people. You'd do well to pick one up once in a while.

Speaking of which, if you had ANY intrest in the League of Extrordinary Gentlemen at all then you need to check out the comic book. It really is a whole lot better.

Sunday, February 08, 2004

Kick ass! I have my comments section back thanks to Dr. Reverend from Mr. Bloody Diapers and from the good folks at HaloScan!

Blogger can suck my balls.

Holy Shit! I fixed my timestamp! And just days before I move to a new hosting service that I probably won't understand!

I was watching E! a little while ago, Howard Stern's show, and I saw an ad for the Oscars red carpet show. It was, as allways, hosted by the gorgon that is Joan Rivers.

I think I've expressed my feelings on Joan Rivers and her halfwit daughter on more than one occasion. Something about stunning her with her own reflection and then beheading her. Anyways, I think she has now officially had more plastic surgery than Michael Jackson. Not that Jackson's surgeons are slacking off or anything, I think they're both having work done at the maximum possible limit, it's just that Rivers has been doing it longer because she's FUCKING OLD.

Old, and completely untalented in every way. To top that off she now looks like an impressionistic painter's interpretation of a tweyntysomething year old.

Yes, yes, we live in a culture obsessed with youth, yes, Hollywood is the worst example of this, yes, you have to have work done to be successful in the entertainment industry, but unless that surgeon stuffs a sense of humor and a less annoying voice in that skull as a part of the next face lift what's the fucking point? Who keeps thinking "Let's get Joan Rivers! She's current and relevant!".

Things like this are why I hate Hollywood producers.

On an interesting side note, the following commercial was for penis enlarging pills. The last thing I want to think of in conjunction with Joan River's drum-tightly stretched ass is my penis. Rivers is firmly on my list of women I would NOT have sex with. Her, the crazy woman across the street from us that yells incoherently at passers by and that creepy old woman on late night cable that talks about vibrators. That's all I can think of right now, but I can assure you there are others.

One last thought on Joan Rivers, you think there's a picture of her in the attic that's having plastic surgery UNDONE to it?

No that wasn't a reference to League Of Extrordinary Gentlemen. It's a reference to "The Picture Of Dorian Grey" by Oscar Wilde. It's called a book people. You'd do well to pick one up once in a while.

Speaking of which, if you had ANY intrest in the League of Extrordinary Gentlemen at all then you need to check out the comic book. It really is a whole lot better.