“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: September 26, 2004

Saturday, October 02, 2004

In just a few short hours my alma mater West Virginia University plays Virginia Tech in a televised game. I, and my friends, are gathering at my brother's house for the noon kickoff.

I should be asleep right now.

Instead, I just placed an emergency call to the water company.

See, I was taking a shower (picture that ladies) and I noticed that the water backed up at the front of the tub due to my slow drain was an unusual color.

This wasn't too awfully distressing as I'd just recently chipped the mold off the sides of the tub and I figured that's what made the water the odd gray/blackish color.

At this point I'd just like to point out to any women reading this that I am, in fact, available.

So I get out of the tub, my manly nudeness glistening in the flourescent light, when I noticed that the toilet water was also discolored.

A quick check confirmed that the sink too was producing colored water.

Considering that I'd just showered in it, I found this a bit distressing.

Turns out the city is flushing the pipes this weekend.

I'm not sure exactly what that entails having lived in the country most of my life, but I'm sure it can't be too fucking good for me.

The woman on the phone was good enough to explain to me that they did announce it on the nightly local news. Some of you may remember my opinion of our local news from my days with TerriblyWrong.com. For those of you that don't, let's just say that opinion isn't good.

I once witnessed an accident on the road and was interviewed by our local news. They got every single point of the story wrong.

It was a single car accident, they reported it was two.

The truck went into the turn too fast in clear conditions and rolled over the hill, they reported that it went into a skid on a wet road (the rain didn't start till the second or third hour of our hacking the semi cab apart).

They reported two passengers, there were three.

You get the idea.

So since I don't watch the news I get to shower in god knows what.

I find that wrong somehow.

The lady went on to say that the news reported that it wouldn't be a good weekend to wash clothes, but they didn't say anything about drinking it or running it over your head for an extended period of time.

I'm a notoriously long bather.

So was Einstein.

It's documented somewhere. I'm sure of it.

In any event, history teaches me that if the local news reports that the water is bad to wash clothes in but Ok for everything else then I know that clothes washing is an unusually good thing right now and the water is toxic for all other purposes.

So if I drop dead in the next few hours you guys know why.

I'm off to bed.

Friday, October 01, 2004

The fucking nieghbor's fucking dog is fucking tearing the fucking sheet metal off the side of my fucking garage.

God I fucking hate them.

So Jay and I have been playing Star Wars: Battlefront for like three straight days now, stopping only for food, a few hours sleep and to occasionally stop the bleeding from our eyes.

The game has it’s flaws, but it still kicks total ass.

In other news, Nate had an interesting altercation at the bodega today.

The dictionary definition of bodega is:

(1) Cellar, wine cellar, warehouse, or ship's hold. Casa Chuparrosa has three bodegas or 'cellars': The lady's bodega, man's bodega and gardener's bodega.

(2) A small Hispanic shop selling wine and groceries.

However, if you live in a hispanic nieghborhood, or you’ve seen Half Baked, you know that a bodega is actually a small store containing just enough in the way of groceries that most people don’t know that they’re really selling illegal substances.

Given that the bodega is just across the alley from my house (I could hit it with a rock from my back porch) it is sometimes a convenient source of food-like substances.

Since it was before noon and I’m the only one in the house with a car (before noon = sleeping) Nate made such a journey.

So he gets his provisions to find himself in line behind an elderly woman in the process of buying twelve cans of Pringles with unrolled pennies.

If you know Nate you already see where this could get messy.

After several coughs and throat-clearings (which for Nate is VERY polite) the woman behind the counter, who was till then busy dumping pennies into a counting/rolling tube, asked the older woman to wait a moment while she let Nate go through.

Remember when old ladies were nice?

Well aparently those fucking days are OVER.

The old bat freaks out. Aparently in her world everyone has time to wait on her ass. So she goes to the door and yells loudly to the person in the car across the street (we assume it’s the person that drove her there) that they were making her wait.

As Nate was only buying six bucks worth of stuff he was finished before her tyrade was over and then had to wait for her to get out of the door so he could leave.

This is what we have to deal with in my nieghborhood.

Rampant insanity.

Luckily, I’m the very model of sanity.

That reminds me, I need to get that dog whistle so I can start training the nieghbor’s dog to kill and eat them.

Speaking of my neighbors, I finally had to call the city police today on their account.

Seems they think it’s really cool to park their van out front of their house, turn the stereo up full blast and dance in the street like idiots.

These are mostly young kids, like under ten, who must have help from some adult. Likely the adult that installed the amplifier and subwoofers.

Why an amp and subwoofers in a fucking soccer-mom-van? Fucked if I know.

It’s bad enough when they park in front of their house, (which is next door, which is why they’re nieghbors) where the kids play top 40 pop crap, but tonight they decided to park right in front of my house and play obnoxiously loud rap music.

Don’t get me wrong, loud music has it’s place. I myself have a 120 watt amp and a pair of 15 inch digital subwoofers in my trunk. I use them primarily to piss off people talking on cellphones at red lights, but I do enjoy loud music.

However there’s only a handful of rap songs that don’t make me want to fucking puke and they didn’t pick one of them.

It was serriously rattling shit off my wall and I still felt like an old man yelling at kids to get off my lawn.

That’s one of the ways you know you’re old, when you begin to care what your lawn looks like. I must still be really young because mine looks like shit around the edges. The only reason we mow it at all is to avoid my other nieghbors calling my Mom and complaining.

Like my lawn is the reason local property values are in the shitter.

But alas, it was not to be. The van left before the police arrived.

I’ll get them next time.

Damn kids…

Monday, September 27, 2004

So I'm back.

Home, Shit, Home.

Yer thrilled. I can tell.

Once again I've taken a few days off from the blog. This time was to completely crash from my vacation.

The surest sign of a good vacation is being more worn out than you were before you left.

By that measure I had a GREAT fucking vacation.

Anyways, my nieghbors still suck. The guy across the street with the propensity for beating on his power box now has no windows in his house. From the look of it they were broken from the outside, but hey, nothing would surprise me. They could throw monkeys out the damn windows and I'd say "Yep. They're throwing monkeys."

The family in the white house next to mine has increased thier number by one. Probably more than one, there's like 30 of the bastards, but this one is definitely new.

They have a dog.

They have the dog that would have been the star of Cujo if Stephen King had seen him before whatever childhood trauma made him hate St Bernards so much (Ironically it was Cujo that made ME hate St Bernards).

The newest (and probably smartest, cleanest and least parasite-ridden) nieghbor is in fact a rotwieler mix of some sort. I'd estimate his weight at about 130-140 lbs.

I'm not fucking kidding. If I could post pictures I'd show you one.

Thing is, the dog is the QUIETEST LIVING THING living next door.

I'm hoping it freaks out and eats a few of them.

I'm going to get a dog whistle and give the dog a playful jolt with it every time it displays nonviolent tendencies towards them.

Yes, I really have that little to do.

When I'm not ploting the doom of my nieghbors I play a lot of video games. Since I got back home I've mainly been playing Fable on the X-Box.

Here in the graveyard we've been anxiously awaiting the arival of Fable. My roommate Jay (AKA Dark Lord Jay) pre-ordered it and even got the preview DVD which we watched repeatedly.

Fable is a fantasy/medieval role playing game in which, the makers promised, every action affects the final outcome of the game. They also boasted 40+ hours of game.

First off, There's only four endings to the game. Second, there's only two choices that affect the outcome; the decision to be good or evil, and the decision of what to do in the end after you succeed in your quest.

Lastly, the biggest complaint amongst game critics was that the game was too short. One critic claimed to have beaten it in only ten hours. We figured that the critics were rushing through it and it would take us longer than that.

It took me 11 hours and 52 minutes.

I fucking sleep longer than that.

Don't get me wrong, it's a cool game. It was a lot of fun to play, it works well, it sounds good, but it's just too damn easy and too damn short.

They promised us the moon and they handed us a pebble.

A damn entertaining pebble, but still a pebble.

My advice is rent it. If you can't beat it in one or two rental periods then you either need to lay off the bong or you need to get more assistance from your special-ed group.