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Friday, February 24, 2006

Dentistry websites and shark attack videos

I'm pretty sure my wisdom teeth are coming in. I haven't heard from a dentist in a while (insurance/money reasons), but the last time I went he said I may not have to have mine removed. However, I should not take comfort in something a dentist said over 2 years ago.

I googled 'wisdom teeth', and I realized that this was a bad idea. I'm about to get more teeth in my mouth, and google returned nothing but pages about impacted wisdom teeth. That's only preparing me to panic. That's like knowing you're going to go swimming with whales in the morning, so you stay up all night watching violent shark attack videos.

All dental woes aside, I've got a 22-page group paper to hand in, a presentation to give, and a final to take. To hell with my teeth. Time to bite the bullet, assuming I can still physically do that.

(Danger.)

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Thursday, February 23, 2006

The clean secret behind nakedlawyers.com

Tonight I jokingly told Amy to send nude pictures of herself to the Bar Association, because nobody wants an ugly lawyer (look at the ones on TV. Hello, Boner City!). She just kind of sighed, as she often does when I say things. I then offered that maybe nakedlawyers.com would prove me right. And she, being at the computer, actually went to nakedlawyers.com.

Now, the internet hosts many fetishes, and I figured there's got to be people who want to bang lawyers, right? Well, it turns out nakedlawyers.com does NOT show you steamy prosecuties, but rather it forwards you to a website for children's music. I have never been so disgusted to
not see gavels in vaginas in all my life.

Someone hits up the internet hoping to see Judge Judy's naughty bits and then suddenly BAM! A song called 'Mammals Eat Coconuts.' Flaccidtown, USA.

(bed.)

You get forwarded to bobroden.com, a website about some Raffi-type jerk who is in no way affiliated with nude attorneys.

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Wednesday, February 22, 2006

A fuck proposal

Yesterday morning I got back from the computer lab at 6:30am after almost finishing a paper. At this point I came close to, as men in labcoats put it, 'snapping inside my own goddamn brain.' My thoughts raced, my body twitched from sleep deprivation, and I couldn't get in a good moment's rest because the stupid paper wasn't even done.

Things like papers should not affect us as humans. They are not part of the survival instinct. I was not hiding from predators or pursuing a mate. An experimental proposal does not directly pertain to me shooting my DNA around in hopes of making little Henrys for the future, yet there I was, shakin' around, losing my grip on reality.

Lesson learned: stop caring about stuff that doesn't directly help you survive, like essays. Unless that paper gets you laid. A well-written Fuck Proposal, perhaps.

(bed.)

Love letters are just fuck proposals that rhyme. Unless you wrote your girlfriend a haiku, in which case you're just lazy, because those things are easy as shit.

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Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Time to rock this paper, scissors

I shall enter the computer lab with no more than a belly full of bagels and a bottle of Vault Zero, a diet-citrus-soft-drink-energy-beverage I got really cheap at Kroger.

Pray for me, away message readers, but like, don't pray for my sins or anything. Just get me a passing grade on this thing and we're cool. Tell Jesus I say hi.

(Time to rock this paper, scissors.)

I got home from the computer lab at about 6:30am. I then proceeded to sleep for an hour, then wake up and get back to work. The scientific process, when written, is just about the most unproductive thing on the planet, and this is coming from a guy who regularly reads at least seven news blogs.

Science, if you want to happen, just happen, but don't make me type out a bunch of shit so I can have permission to see you. Asshole.

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Monday, February 20, 2006

Trick women into banging lawn mannequins

You know how in that old Axe commercial the lady would spray the man-dummy with Axe body spray and then seconds later she pressed her body up to the dummy because the Axe made her horny? I can only assume that after the cameras stopped rolling, she had sex with that dummy.

So my plan is to put a dummy in my front lawn, then douse it in Axe. Soon women will start having sex with it, and I can throw a big net over them and drag them down the street, offering one to each of my single friends.

I'd do this because I'm a nice enough guy to trick women into banging lawn mannequins just so my single friends can have deodorant-inspired sexual intercourse with strangers.

Commercials are stupid. I'm going to a lab meeting.

(Showering gives you ridiculous thoughts.)

Saturday afternoon, a random woman gave me a free sample container of some snake peel-scented Axe body wash. I normally don't accept soaps from strangers, but I decided I'd accept it as long as I could finally have a body wash that would make me smell like everyone's favorite smell, which is that of a snake's skin that has peeled off. Who doesn't get wistful for their childhood summers at Grandpa's Snake Farm when they get a whiff of some snake peel? Certainly not me, because I not only know what snake peel smells like, but I love it, too.

How long has snake peelbeen an acceptable smell for a person? I just got used to Right Guard making my armpits smell like "sport", but now my body can smell like snake peel? That's ridiculous.

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Saturday, February 18, 2006

The Dark Side of Kroger

The Dark Side of Kroger:
-All the milk sold at Kroger is treated with hormones that eventually make you thirsty so that you're forced to drink more milk later.
-Every time you use your Kroger Savings Club card, a man in an unmarked vehicle follows you home and then watches you go to the bathroom.
-Cashiers at Kroger have been conditioned to become sexually aroused by that beeping sound made when an item is scanned.
-Kroger brand ice cream is cheaper than regular ice cream because it's imported from Terrorist Dairy Farms.
-The cement in each Kroger parking lot contains the bones of no less than three Native American chieftains.
-The CEO of Kroger Foods is none other than Hitler's Ghost.

Think before you go Krogering.

(Kroger.)

Valentine's Day candy is half off. Chalk hearts were never good to begin with, so they can't really go bad. Stock up now while the savin's good. Your sweetheart will appreciate your practicality.

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Friday, February 17, 2006

You shot dominoes out of your fingers

At 3:30 I'm running an experiment in my psych lab. The thing is, I've never run it with just myself and another new lab rookie. So basically we're going to have a stranger come in, we're going to put electrodes on his head, and then we'll all cross our fingers and hope the science happens. Only science doesn't happen like that. Magic does. And I wasn't accepted into a magic lab, because that doesn't make any fucking sense. You get a magic wand, you're shooting sparks all over the goddamn place and nobody asks you to do any math or analyze any data. You just gave a small child a giraffe neck and then you shot dominoes out of your fingers. That's a magic lab, people. What I'm doing? That's just being inept.

I'm going to lab now. Wish me
magic.

(Freeform.)

Well, good news. I showed up to lab and our goddamn subject didn't show up, so instead of hooking someone's scalp up to electrodes and hoping that science works its magic (is science allowed to work magic?), I sat in the lab and organized old data until my brain liquified and dripped out of my right ear, totally staining my shirt and ruining my day.

So far, more subjects have been no-shows than yes-shows, which is ridiculous because my lab is practically throwing money at undergrads who don't mind spending 2 hours with strangers who get sticky adhesive gel in their hair. And if the internet's taught me anything, it's that college students don't care how much shit gets in their hair if the price is right.

Fun Fact: This away message was put up without the word "neck" in it (first paragraph, toward the end, find it yourself), so I suggested that magicians give children giraffes. Just a whole giraffe. Here buddy, enjoy. It's got a long neck to reach the highest tree leaves in Africa. I'm a magician, and this is what I do in magic lab.

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Loathsome umbrella hog.

Guys, it might be rainy out, but keep this in mind: you are not allowed to share an umbrella with your guy friends. I don't care how long you've been best friends: if your buddy keeps you dry, you're his new girlfriend.

I've run up to girls I hardly know and decided to talk to them because they have umbrellas. 'Hey, Charlene! I haven't seen you since, uh, orientation! Want to go to class with me, then wait outside until I have to go someplace else?'
Then she might give me a weird look and walk away, and then I'll wonder why I'm still even Facebook friends with her.

I just made up a girl named Charlene and within two paragraphs she turned into a loathsome umbrella hog.

In conclusion, don't share dude umbrellas and exploit your lady friends, unless they're Charlene, in which case they're stuck up bitches.

(Class.)

I had a crush on a girl named Charlene my freshman year of high school, but she was one of those people that had like two friends and then disappeared sophomore year, probably because one of her friends got her pregnant. Sure, she may have just moved away, but I like to pretend something awful happened to her because she never went out with me. Like, instead of going out with me, she got pregnant in the men's bathroom and dropped out of school.

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Thursday, February 16, 2006

Girls Gone Wild DVDs

My 12 year old brother stole my Girls Gone Wild DVDs. This worries me. Not that he'd steal porn, but that he'd steal that porn.

I mean, porn objectifies women. Fine, that's what it does, you watch people bone, you make a mess, endorphins rush, you go to bed. I can accept that.

However, GGW makes women not just objects, but sad objects. They're easily tricked, like the GGW camera crew could find dumb spring break girls and do that trick where you pretend to pull quarters out of someone's ear. The girls clap and giggle and then take off all their clothes and get a t-shirt for it. Then they put on that t-shirt and get sprayed with a hose.

Every hour my brother watches GGW he needs to watch an hour of the opposite. Like, hot lawyer porn. A woman wins an important court case, buys her own dinner because she's independent, then bangs a soccer team.

(Bed.)

True Story: Girls Gone Wild will make you overdose on boobs in about five minutes. I used to consider myself a boob aficionado, then on that sixth minute of Girls Gone Wild where yet another generic harlot shows you her cans, I was craving a book.

Or at least some penetration shots.

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Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Alarm Clock ESP

I suffer from a rare condition that effects the Henry Birdseye III population at a rate of about 100%.

You see, many people's brains help them out by being psychic. Some people can guess blackjack cards. Others can lift small objects just by thinking about it. My brain, however, has a little ability I like to call Alarm Clock ESP. Let me explain.

If I were the good type of psychic, my brain would say, 'Hey, you've got 18, but the next card is a 3, so hit and you'll get blackjack.' My brain, however, will wake me up just 5 minutes before my alarm goes off. 'Hey, check this out,' my brain says. 'You're going to have to wake up soon.' Then I wake up and see my clock 5 minutes before it goes off, so I go to bed knowing that I have 5 awesome minutes of sleep ahead of me.

Stupid brain lets me trash talk him, too.

(work.)

There's a part of the brain that makes sure you don't sleep in by waking you up before your alarm clock. That part of the brain is an asshole.

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Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Just don't kill yourself.

Valentine's Day is now this big, awkward elephant in the room. You may say hi to your friends as you would on a normal day, but you both know deep down that somewhere in your casual conversation, you're going to have to wish the other person a Happy Valentine's Day.

And it may be ok the first time, maybe the second time, too. Then by about 3pm you're just going to snap.
'Hey Carol.' 'Oh hey Henry.' 'How are you?' 'I'm swell, and you?' 'Couldn't be better.' (pause) then I say 'GOD DAMN IT, HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, YOU SLUT.'

And you're going to be asked about your plans, too, so make something really happy up to make everyone else sad. 'Oh, me and my lover are going on a PRE-honeymoon. and you, guy-holding-a-noose?'

I'm off to class, but don't let the V-Day get you down.

(Just don't kill yourself.)

Holidays make it so you're considered rude if you talk to somebody and don't wish them a particularly happy day. I pointed this out for Valentine's Day. George Washington's Birthday, you're next, motherfucker.

Washington's Birthday is Feb. 20. Buy your card now before they jack up the prices and you get fucked.

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Valentine's Day, Solitaire Style

Dear World,

It's just Valentine's Day. If you have time to mope around via away messages, then you have no excuse being sad. By being near an online computer, you are showing the agency needed to get porn. You get porn, I say you crack open a bottle of champagne (or cheap beer. your call.) and crank one out, Solitaire Style.

Nobody has ever said, 'Man, that orgasm was great, I think I'm going to go cry now.' At the very least, you'll just take a nap or something.

In conclusion, shut up and masturbate, whiners.

(Bed.)

Being single on Valentine's Day should really be about empowerment, not moping. I bumped into a platonic lady friend today and gave her an impromptu speech about loving yourself on Valentine's Day. I then told her to go home, pick out a toy, and celebrate this holiday by herself. I'm pretty sure she bought into it, too, 'cause she looked like she felt a lot better after I told her to go home and masturbate. Also, this was in a large, crowded computer lab, so I'm sure I empowered a lot of strangers, too.

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Monday, February 13, 2006

50% More Sparkles than Coke

I've recently become a masochist, so not only have I started a blog, but I've started buying soy milk.

The thing is, in the nutrition facts, Trans Fat is in italics, as if the milk itself is bragging about how there are 0 grams of it. However, Trans Fat is one of those things that nobody understands, like Ginkgo Biloba and Taurine. Sure, it's advertised, and we know if it's good or bad, but it's still just as good as saying 'Pepsi has 50% more
SPARKLES than Coke.'

Whenever I want to think like most people, I imagine what my mom would do. And I'm sure Mom has no idea what Trans Fat is, but she knows it's bad. Ginkgo biloba is made of old wizard's magic, and taurine turns all your hideous rashes into delicious slices of pepperoni.

Speaking of pepperoni, it's time to eat things.

(food, mostly.)

I recently realized that most people have no idea what the hell a lot of food labels mean. For all I know, ginkgo biloba could be a common type of grass. For all I know some asshole's been putting his lawn clippings into vitamins and making a fortune by throwing "Now with GINKGO BILOBA" on all sorts of product packaging (plus, his lawn's all mowed).

And once again, urgency makes things awesome. Not only is a burning pub a way to create meaningful relationships with strangers, but by including the word "NOW" in advertising, people are reminded that there's no time like the present to buy stuff, and buy it FAST. "NOW WITH NEGATIVE SEVEN GRAMS OF TRANS FAT!"

It's amazing how much thinking I do despite the fact that this is just a place where I post needlessly long away messages.

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Sunday, February 12, 2006

Preggers Bitches Best Cover Up

The other day I saw a girl, probably around the age of 18, wearing a shirt that showed off her midriff. The problem here is that she was also very much pregnant.

The combination of pregnancy and revealing clothing tells us at least two things:
1) There is a good chance she is a slut, and
2) Daddy probably ran away once he put his demon seed in her whore garden.

You don't put up a help wanted sign if you've already got a full-time manager. In this metaphor, the help wanted sign is the skanky clothing, and the full-time manager is the baby daddy. What ties this together is the fact that boning the right people can make you a manager at some places, most notably fast food joints.

In conclusion, preggers bitches best cover up. Word.

(bed.)

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Friday, February 10, 2006

Meet Your Future Wife in a Burning Building

I think what depresses me about bars is that hopefully nothing that happens there will be long-lasting. I'd be sad if I asked my parents where they met and their story went something like:
'Oh yeah, son, I saw your mother at the bar and I thought, 'Hey, I'd bang that,' so I bought her whatever beer was on special. Then when she was drunk enough to make eye contact with me, I took her home and we had some sex. Then she missed her period, we got married, and you were born.'

There isn't much magic about yelling to someone in a loud, smoky room. I want to rescue my future wife from a burning building.

Amy just read this and said, 'I don't want to be in a burning building.' Well, I guess we know who's not marrying me, then. She now says:
'I guess we know who's not getting any tonight, too.'

Damn.

(class.)

I didn't make this connection when I first typed this, but both bars and burning hospitals are filled with smoky rooms. However, with burning hospitals, there's a sense of urgency, but with bars, you're just yelling at people sitting a few feet away from you because the bad music they're playing is too goddamn loud.

Basically what I'm saying is that if you're trying to meet a woman at a bar, spice up the night by setting the shitty live band on fire and rescuing the pretty lady at the bar. If shortly after giving her CPR you find out she has a boyfriend, throw her back in. "I saved you to get some poontang, lady, now go have your precious boyfriend resuscitate you after you pass out from smoke inhalation."

Also, for the record, I would never set a bar on fire, rescue a hot lady stranger, ask her if she has a boyfriend, then throw her back into the flames when she says yes. This is because I have a girlfriend, thank you very much, and she'd probably get really mad if I saved another woman. So ladies, if you're on fire and I don't rescue you, it's nothing personal.

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Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Honky Tonk Badonkadonk

What scares me most about that Honky Tonk Badonkadonk song isn't just the fact that it's country music stealing words and sexism from rap culture. Oh no, dumb words and the degradation of women have been around since Shakespeare wrote sonnet #CLV, which ended with the lines:
Baby I like it when you shake that rump
Now, harlot, bend over so I can hump

No, the scary part of Honky Tonk Badonkadonk is the way it's all about butts. And that's that. Everyone loves butts; this is a universal fact. This song takes this truth and puts it on our lap with a southern accent, and I think that's too much for some people.

You ever notice how someone can talk about how tight a butt is in a song, but the second they talk about the tightness of a butt hole, people are suddenly 'better than that'?

(work.)

By adding the word "hole" to all those dirty rap songs about stank ass hoe booties, all that misogyny is somehow less appealing. This is a fact I need to share with the world.

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Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Stupid is Sexy

The other day I stumbled across (read: 'downloaded') a porno called 'College Dropouts.'

What I don't get is why they're college dropouts instead of college graduates. Are women sexier if they get worse grades? How is failure supposed to get you a hard-on?

'Oh baby, I want you to put on this plaid skirt so you look like you were once a student, now I want you to mispronounce big words while Big Chuck here does you wheelbarrow style.'

'Alright, now Chuck's going to give you Arabian Sunglasses, but in the meantime I'm going to read a passage from The Communist Manifesto. Just look up at the camera and give me a confused grimace every time I say 'proletariat.'

Somewhere, someone is watching this porno saying, 'Oh man, that dumb girl frowns when you read her Marx. I am so soiling something soon.'
(class.)

So that's that. The first official away message has been posted. Sure, I'll go back and post away messages from days past, but this is the first time I got into the routine of recording these little abominations to the English language (as well as leaving the computer).

By the way, you can click here to learn about Arabian Sunglasses, as well as other goofy ways to degrade women (and yourself!) mid-coitus.

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Monday, February 06, 2006

The Gritty Realism in My Dolphin Simulations

Whenever I log in to Second Life, I don't know what to expect. Given that I've seen people have sex, roleplay as animals, gamble away all their money, dominate, submit, and last but not least, urinate while flying, I don't really know what to expect out of this game.

Either way, I'm going to throw dolphins all over this goddamn virtual world and see if anyone can stop me.

If I found dolphins on my lawn in real life, I'd probably just pour some water on them and try to get them to shut the fuck up, as they'd most likely be screaming.

The ones in Second Life, they just rotate and make happy dolphin noises, which totally kills the gritty realism I want from my dolphin simulations.

(Second Life.)

Not many people even know what Second Life is, which is why I've chosen to start a blog documenting my journeys in this somewhat obscure, freakshow of an online game. A link shall be posted soon.

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Bad News Via Anthropomorphism

The other night our toilet on the second floor got sick and threw up all over the floor. The toilet barf (read: "poop water") dripped down from the bathroom floor through Hartmann's light fixture onto his bed. It also crawled across the carpet into Bora's room.

This is what happens when you have a bulimic toilet. I mean, if you ate poop and pee all day, you'd probably throw up all the time, right? Although our toilet doesn't actually have a soul, so instead of a thinking, puking toilet friend, we actually just have shitty plumbing.

Anthropomorphism makes the bad news easier to deal with. 'Friendly hurricane gives New Orleans a big wet kiss.' See? It's like all the pain is gone.

(Class.)

It's hard when Fate gives you a potentially hilarious situation where poop water is upstairs and the best you can do is slap a soul on the toilet and call it a day.

Adding life to inanimate object is a great way to make things seem more "happy." Note that in Super Mario World almost every item block, background decoration, and bad guy had eyes. Not that the bad guys shouldn't have eyes, unless one of them was blind or something, but what kind of Nintendo character beats up on a blind guy?

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Audioblog test.

this is an audio post - click to play
When you leave a message, the Audioblogger service says, "Please leave a message at the tone" then it plays not a ding, but rather a mystical, magical sound. Like an elf fart or something.

This post used to say, "This will be deleted soon enough," but to hell with that. People like to hear stuff, so this stays.

Tip for the ladies:
Close your eyes and focus on the sound of my voice. If my horoscope today was correct, you'll get really horny.

Update: Audioblogger tools have since been cancelled, so this the only time you'll hear an audio post unless I record something myself. Yes, the only audioblog post I have says "I'll do this later."

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Sunday, February 05, 2006

Introduction.

Hi. My name is Henry and I'm on AOL Instant Messenger (AIM) a lot. Now, a significant portion of college students, as you may or may not know, are almost always on AIM, too. Rather than just sign off, they'll tell the world exactly what they're doing when they're not physically at the computer, listening to stolen mp3s and checking their email every few seconds. These messages conveying exactly how and why they're away from the computer are called "away messages."
A significant amount of the AIM-using population is content with putting up away messages like "laundry" and "class" to explain to all their internet friends that they're folding shirts or sleeping in a lecture hall.

However, I'm also a long-winded person. I tend to ramble. I'll fill that away message box to capacity even if I'm going to the bathroom. And I've received positive feedback from friends and stalkers alike. So here we are with an away message blog.

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Saturday, February 04, 2006

Why aren't the dolphins out yet?

Second Life emails you when you get IMed while offline.

This is what I've received today:
Jynx Axon:
GET YOUR DOLPHINS OUT OF MY FUCKING ROOM
Jynx Axon:
why arent the effin dolphins out yet
Jynx Axon:
i want them out
Jynx Axon:
they r annoying as hell
Jynx Axon:
and if u dont take them out
Jynx Axon:
we are ganna have a serious problem

Wow, internet. Just wow.

(Grilling discount chicken on the Foreman.)

More on the subject later. As I've said before, the Second Life blog will come soon enough (update: no, it probably won't), then all the gritty details will be readily digestible by the blogosphere.

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Friday, February 03, 2006

Your Dolphin Garbage is Infinite

Last night in Second Life I put a lot of dolphins all over a beach area.



Well, turns out, in Second Life, one can own land, and the guy who owned that particular IMed me today and said, 'very funny.' Because unlike the eggs with which you pelt your neighbor's car, every item you create in Second Life is marked with your name.

So this guy found about 20 dolphins in his yard and all of them had my name on it. So naturally I'm going to try to see what other kinds of crap I can leave in other people's yards, because with the internet, your dolphin garbage is infinite.

I think 'Your Dolphin Garbage is Infinite' would be a good album title. Possibly for Interrobang.
(bed.)

I've always wanted to call my band Interrobang. For those of you who don't study obscure punctuation marks, an interrobang is "?!", as in, "You hid my insulin WHERE?!"

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Thursday, February 02, 2006

Nintendong Revolution

The Nintendo Revolution will feature a wireless controller that is shaped like a thick iPod shuffle and it will offer 3d gameplay. The console will know exactly how you're moving the controller. How it's rotated, how fast it's moving, etc. Which led Bora and I to this conclusion:

Someone is going to play games with their penis. They'll strap the controller to their wang and wave it around and poor Link in the latest Zelda game will just think someone's swinging a sword with their arm.

Well, you're wrong, Link. Your sword is some guy's erect penis. This could finally be a chance to live out a power fantasy and slay monsters with his mighty genitals. You thrust your pelvis and bam! The demons are dead. Hooray for your penis!

Unfortunately, the Nintendo Revolution controller is small and white.

(Class.)

You know it'll happen.

Update: Now that it's no longer called the Revolution, it's more the Nintendo Wiiner.

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Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Eat the Hotdog Chunks In My Barf

Well, it's early and I'm drowsy, so you know what that means: time to get behind the wheel of an automobile.

Would anyone really mind if we just pushed back life by a few hours? Starting things before lunch should be a crime. Morning people can get their own little island like lepers, because they sure as hell aren't normal.

I pretty much just compared someone who gets up at 5am to go running to someone whose body is falling apart because of a disease. I'd say that's fair, given how much morning people make me want to barf into their hair.

Oh, you got up at 4am and did laundry and walked your dog before your weekly 8am class? Well, I just got hotdog chunks in your bangs. Eat it, early risers. Eat the hotdog chunks in my barf. Jerks.

(Work.)

When I have to wake up early, I get angry and I feel the need to make people eat vomit. Some people drink coffee. I daydream about making you chew regurgitated food.

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Hot Tub Cyber Sex

Tonight, above a river valley, in a stone courtyard, standing at a balcony overlooking a beautiful landscape, I found two people having cyber sex in a hot tub.

The river, the stone courtyard, the balcony, and the hot tub were all a part of Second Life, an open-ended MMO game. The term 'open-ended' could entail building a castle and selling light sabers and dinosaur sculptures for online money. Or it means you can have sex with people over the internet.

The girl using the sex animation on the guy had a microphone plugged in and I could hear her moaning and saying dirty things. This meant that somewhere this evening a girl was playing a video game whilst makin' self magic, finger style. Which is somewhere between sad and really sad.

Hooray internet!

(Hooray bed!)

I later found out that the voice I heard while observing the couple cyber-boning was probably coming from the animation itself, not the lady actually plugging in a microphone and moaning whilst making the loneliest of loves. Still, I got that initial shock, and that makes me happy. And shocked.

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