6/12/02
12:23pm
YOU'RE NO ONE UNTIL SOMEONE LOVES YOU... AND OTHER LIES THEY TELL YOU
Well, seems quite a few people are trying to crash my system these days. And that's just the internet aspect of things. I mean, seriously, WHY do I get emails with viruses??? WHY? Does some prick kid REALLY wanna find out what happens to THEIR computer when I get THEIR forwarded virus? I send it right back to them. I hope it killed their blasted lil unparented unwatched computers and ended their fun real quick. Lil brats. Enough is enough. Parents, why are you not spanking your children???? Do the rest of us a favor and give them at least one good yearly beating, because this "Timeout" bullshit just isn't working for me. And you know what, I bet after parents start smacking their lil darlings around a little bit, we will see a sudden drop in computer viruses. Seriously. Because Gawd forbid we actually PARENT our children, right? That's someone else's job, isn't it? NO. Spankings need to be dealt out to these tiny terrors before they become as obnoxious and out of control as my little brother once was-- before he joined the military. See? He WANTED to be diciplined! The entire time he was acting up and being an arrogant 15 year old, he was actually SCREAMING for a beating. Kids want to be punished for their wrongs, they just don't know it. Computer viruses are just another growing sign that little Johnny is wanting more than a stern talking-to, despite the lies that child shrinks tell yuppie [parents].
In other news.... I was chatting with my buddy Mo today about the lies THEY tell you. Things like, "you're no one until someone loves you" and "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", and my personal favorite, "we're all in this together". Men don't realize the hell women go through and have gone through, and then stupid-ass sayings like the above-mentioned come along and throw all of womankind out for a new loop. Like corsets and heels just weren't enough....
So I say, to hell with those sayings! I was someone before someone else loved me, and I'm still someone (I mean, come on now, none of us are actually NO ONE since we ARE all here, right?). I take up space and I take up cyberspace, so therefore I exist. HA!
And the next untruth: Beauty and the very concept of beauty is all a sick and demented lie. It's all about how big your tits are, girls. How many people honestly look at your face if you have huge tits? Even women are drawn to big tits, whether or not they admit it. Big bustlines have a gravitational pull that is irresistible to all humans great and small. It's all about the mammaries. Freud would love me. And just so the men don't feel left out: we're looking at your personality and craniums, not your chiselled good looks (we save that for later. ;) ) Or if you have bitch-tits, we will inevitably be staring at your chest. So get over it.
OK. Last but not least: "We're all in this together."
Who is this WE?? As far as I know, I'm the only one here, so they must be talking to ME. And what is THIS? Life? The Universe? EVERYTHING??? WHATTTT??????!!!!
A phrase like that can make a paranoid schizophrenic into a purebred psychopath! A phrase like that just JUSTIFIED the THEY Theory. Because THEY just addressed the poor disturbed creature and claimed a WE association. Kind of makes the poor bastard wonder if he had a hand in his own undoing, since WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER. And then we wonder why people go on killing sprees?? Phrases like "We're all in this together." will do it everytime. Eliminate the WE factor, and all that's left is YOU. Brings back a sense of control of the situation (although I'm still trying to figure out what the "this" is). To coin a phrase. That's another one... WHAT THE HELL DOES IT MEAN???? No wonder so many kids that need beatings failed English.
Wednesday, June 12, 2002
Tuesday, June 11, 2002
6/11/02
10:25am
DEATH AND TAXES?
*DISCLAIMER: This is just for fun, by the way... I actually have NO idea if any of this is truth.*
OK... a pseudo-serious political discussion, along with
The Obligatory Conspiracy Theory Link
And that's all I will say about that one, because frankly, it's over and no one's bringing them back. Yet another speculation on WHAT HAPPENED ON SEPTEMBER 11TH scenario. Color me bitch, but I was there, and I'm tired of reliving it day in and day out. Enough is enough.
On a lighter note. I will start off with this fun link Dante found whilst browsing. It's called THE SIXTEENTH AMENDMENT WAS NEVER RATIFIED
And as a good citizen, you SHOULD be asking, well what the hell does THAT mean? And I'll tell you as I understand it. In a nutshell, file the right papers, talk to the right people (ie a lawyer and your bank and your job) and you DON'T have to pay income tax. That's right. The 16th Amendment was never ratified, which is what has every American VOLUNTEERING to pay taxes. Get that shit. VOLUNTARY taxation. What a larf. By signing the fun paperwork for "tax purposes" when you get that new job, you are effectively signing away your hard earned cash in donation to the government. FUN. here's some more fun sites for ya to eyeball:
http://www.supremelaw.org/fedzone11/htm/chaptr13.htm
http://www.thelawthatneverwas.com/
http://www.joyfoundation.com/
Yes, some of the sites are selling stuff to help you get out of paying taxes, but it's still interesting to know that technically, income tax is considered a voluntary tax. The ones who were SUPPOSED to be taxed were the work visa folks, and the occupants of the US Territories.
How ironic...
I guess it's time to stop signing that W4, eh?
10:25am
DEATH AND TAXES?
*DISCLAIMER: This is just for fun, by the way... I actually have NO idea if any of this is truth.*
OK... a pseudo-serious political discussion, along with
The Obligatory Conspiracy Theory Link
And that's all I will say about that one, because frankly, it's over and no one's bringing them back. Yet another speculation on WHAT HAPPENED ON SEPTEMBER 11TH scenario. Color me bitch, but I was there, and I'm tired of reliving it day in and day out. Enough is enough.
On a lighter note. I will start off with this fun link Dante found whilst browsing. It's called THE SIXTEENTH AMENDMENT WAS NEVER RATIFIED
And as a good citizen, you SHOULD be asking, well what the hell does THAT mean? And I'll tell you as I understand it. In a nutshell, file the right papers, talk to the right people (ie a lawyer and your bank and your job) and you DON'T have to pay income tax. That's right. The 16th Amendment was never ratified, which is what has every American VOLUNTEERING to pay taxes. Get that shit. VOLUNTARY taxation. What a larf. By signing the fun paperwork for "tax purposes" when you get that new job, you are effectively signing away your hard earned cash in donation to the government. FUN. here's some more fun sites for ya to eyeball:
http://www.supremelaw.org/fedzone11/htm/chaptr13.htm
http://www.thelawthatneverwas.com/
http://www.joyfoundation.com/
Yes, some of the sites are selling stuff to help you get out of paying taxes, but it's still interesting to know that technically, income tax is considered a voluntary tax. The ones who were SUPPOSED to be taxed were the work visa folks, and the occupants of the US Territories.
How ironic...
I guess it's time to stop signing that W4, eh?
Monday, June 10, 2002
6/10/02
7:05pm
THE ANGRY FUDGE EXPERIENCE
First and foremost, if yer reading this, Bee, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!
OK. So I was at home, watching Death By Chocolate on one of those improve something channels, and this guy (apparently at one point drafted into the Marines for Viet Nam, but looked more like a librarian) is showing his viewing audience how to make fudge. I think, 'Wow, fudge. That sounds great.' I write down the recipe and how to make it, and even go out and get a candy thermometer so that I will reach the 245 degrees F that it's supposed to reach before it will set.
I get everything ready, I make sure I have everything, and I begin to prepare this (in my imagination) wonderful fudge. I get the chocolate mess to boil, and I leave it boiling, get it to the 245 degrees, grease the pan to put it into, add the last ingredients as per the recipe, and pour the painfully hot chocolate sludge into this pan. Do you know how painful hot (I mean BOILING) chocolate is when is splashes you? VERY painful. Worse than hot wax, even. Mind you, I had to keep running back and forth every five minutes or so because Pants decides she really likes chocolate, and I chase her off the stove several times during this endeavor, the final time she left chocokitty footprints from her front paw... guess who dipped in to sample the chocolate? And after that, I had to fight her off because after the chocolate experience, she was a CRACKHEAD, attacking everything and anything, pupils so dilated that I swear I saw into her brain.
But I digress. I let the alleged fudge sit on the countertop, waiting and waiting for it to 'set'. After two hours I got tired and put it into the refrigerator, expecting this might work-- my cleverness astounds even ME sometimes-- but NO! The sludge laughed at me, refusing to harden to fudge. Damn it. I scraped the fudge back into a saucepan and brought it back to a boil, thinking maybe it just needed to push off more liquid... I poored the new attempt into a smaller pan, let it sit on the countertop again, and waited patiently. After about an hour of waiting, I pried the would-be fudge out of the pan and put it onto a plate. I was sooo cool. I made fudge... but there was something horrifyingly wrong. This fudge suspiciously resembled taffy. Chocolate-flavored taffy.
I poked at it with a knife, and it sucked the knife away from my hands. I tried to pry it off the plate, but it ate that too. I had successfully created The Blob, but chocolate-flavored. People dressed in 50's clothes would smell chocolate before their immenent absorption into my chocomess, and it would grow in mass and size until no one was safe. I decided that taffy or not, I was gonna make the best of a bad situation and EAT this beast. I pried a piece off and popped it into my mouth, didn't TASTE bad, but I had trouble chewing it. Then I had problems SWALLOWING it. After that I had some trouble breathing, too. So much for saving that quiet 50's town from my monster. Let it eat them! said I. It sat on the counter for about a day, I hoped maybe it would walk away on its own and spare me from actually having to do battle with it. In that mere 24 hours, I learned to LOATHE it. It haunted me, I had dreams of it actually transforming into the dessert food it was intended to be, if only I let it sit there LONG ENOUGH. No luck. I cleaned the house around it, despising it every time I walked past it.
Yesterday I finally said enough. Dante looked at the black sludge shine of it's surface and cringed. I said, "Try some! It actually isn't that bad!" and forced myself to smile. I have hit a new low in deviousness. I hate myself as much as I hate my creation. It reminded me of the time I tried to cook chicken livers and ended up burning them. Even the cat wouldn't eat it.
So yesterday afternoon I crept up on my creation, wrestled the knife from its mucky grasp, and quickly pried at the edges in an attempt to reclaim my plate. The fudge-sludge laughed at me, and this time, I swear I could hear it. Even fire wouldn't kill this thing, but maybe boiling water would do the trick.... It's the Universal Solvent, right?
That plate is STILL soaking in the sink. And the fudge is STILL clinging to its surface. Gawd, I hate that host of Death By Chocolate.... and he owes me a dinner plate, dammit.
7:05pm
THE ANGRY FUDGE EXPERIENCE
First and foremost, if yer reading this, Bee, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!
OK. So I was at home, watching Death By Chocolate on one of those improve something channels, and this guy (apparently at one point drafted into the Marines for Viet Nam, but looked more like a librarian) is showing his viewing audience how to make fudge. I think, 'Wow, fudge. That sounds great.' I write down the recipe and how to make it, and even go out and get a candy thermometer so that I will reach the 245 degrees F that it's supposed to reach before it will set.
I get everything ready, I make sure I have everything, and I begin to prepare this (in my imagination) wonderful fudge. I get the chocolate mess to boil, and I leave it boiling, get it to the 245 degrees, grease the pan to put it into, add the last ingredients as per the recipe, and pour the painfully hot chocolate sludge into this pan. Do you know how painful hot (I mean BOILING) chocolate is when is splashes you? VERY painful. Worse than hot wax, even. Mind you, I had to keep running back and forth every five minutes or so because Pants decides she really likes chocolate, and I chase her off the stove several times during this endeavor, the final time she left chocokitty footprints from her front paw... guess who dipped in to sample the chocolate? And after that, I had to fight her off because after the chocolate experience, she was a CRACKHEAD, attacking everything and anything, pupils so dilated that I swear I saw into her brain.
But I digress. I let the alleged fudge sit on the countertop, waiting and waiting for it to 'set'. After two hours I got tired and put it into the refrigerator, expecting this might work-- my cleverness astounds even ME sometimes-- but NO! The sludge laughed at me, refusing to harden to fudge. Damn it. I scraped the fudge back into a saucepan and brought it back to a boil, thinking maybe it just needed to push off more liquid... I poored the new attempt into a smaller pan, let it sit on the countertop again, and waited patiently. After about an hour of waiting, I pried the would-be fudge out of the pan and put it onto a plate. I was sooo cool. I made fudge... but there was something horrifyingly wrong. This fudge suspiciously resembled taffy. Chocolate-flavored taffy.
I poked at it with a knife, and it sucked the knife away from my hands. I tried to pry it off the plate, but it ate that too. I had successfully created The Blob, but chocolate-flavored. People dressed in 50's clothes would smell chocolate before their immenent absorption into my chocomess, and it would grow in mass and size until no one was safe. I decided that taffy or not, I was gonna make the best of a bad situation and EAT this beast. I pried a piece off and popped it into my mouth, didn't TASTE bad, but I had trouble chewing it. Then I had problems SWALLOWING it. After that I had some trouble breathing, too. So much for saving that quiet 50's town from my monster. Let it eat them! said I. It sat on the counter for about a day, I hoped maybe it would walk away on its own and spare me from actually having to do battle with it. In that mere 24 hours, I learned to LOATHE it. It haunted me, I had dreams of it actually transforming into the dessert food it was intended to be, if only I let it sit there LONG ENOUGH. No luck. I cleaned the house around it, despising it every time I walked past it.
Yesterday I finally said enough. Dante looked at the black sludge shine of it's surface and cringed. I said, "Try some! It actually isn't that bad!" and forced myself to smile. I have hit a new low in deviousness. I hate myself as much as I hate my creation. It reminded me of the time I tried to cook chicken livers and ended up burning them. Even the cat wouldn't eat it.
So yesterday afternoon I crept up on my creation, wrestled the knife from its mucky grasp, and quickly pried at the edges in an attempt to reclaim my plate. The fudge-sludge laughed at me, and this time, I swear I could hear it. Even fire wouldn't kill this thing, but maybe boiling water would do the trick.... It's the Universal Solvent, right?
That plate is STILL soaking in the sink. And the fudge is STILL clinging to its surface. Gawd, I hate that host of Death By Chocolate.... and he owes me a dinner plate, dammit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)