Tuesday, November 21, 2006
or
It Depends On How Hard You Throw Them
You know, my last post about atheism got me thinking about all the other extreme, inflammatory viewpoints I zealously espouse. Like human extinction. So I decided to rant some more. Man, this is gonna piss someone off, but I can't resist. It's like I've opened a bag of cheese curls and can't stop picking at them.
I have personal reasons for desiring the end of the human race, starting with the inception of new life. Pregnancy itself offends my taste. Why any woman would want to infect herself with an abdominal parasite, I will never know. They are slaves to the maternal instinct I suppose, or else immersed in such vanity that they think their DNA is worth doubling in the human gene pool.
Of course, contraception is the first line of defense. However, should it fail, I recomend abortion. Kill the damned things, I say, before they ruin your life as well as the planet. Here's a website that makes me happy: I'm Not Sorry.net.
Yes, I really detest children. My opinion of them is almost entirely negative. Sure they have their cute moments (I mean, don't we all?) but on the whole they are appalling, squirming, putrid little things. Babies, especially. Not only do humans have the longest infancy of any species on the planet, but their young are the most demanding of care. A four month old puppy will play with its master, walk about, eliminate on newspaper, bite when provoked, and more or less independantly carry out the basic functions of life. A four month old human baby is essentially a screaming sack of meat. (For the record, I know I was a baby once, too. I hold my own childhood in contempt as well.)
The human gene pool is getting murkier by the day. Thanks to medical science, natural selection has been superceded by socioeconomic status. Survival of the richest. Cavemen that didn't have the intelligence to find food or fitness to avoid danger just didn't stay alive long enough to replicate. The modern world, however, swaddles defective individuals and raises them to a protected status. Society can't keep up with technology. Every year we learn just enough to make our breed a little bit sicker.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not of a superior sort or anything like that. In fact, I volunteer to keep my genes entirely off the market. As should everyone else.
Human extinction. It's the wave of the future. Luckily I'm not the only one who thinks so. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I've found the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement. Count me in. Unlike my schizoid extremist rants, their site is well written and gives careful thought to every natural question about the movement's intentions, members, and policies.
Hate mail is encouraged.
or
A Student's Guide to Practical Atheism
Today's article goes out to those of my gentle readers who, in their search for identity, have experienced or are currently experiencing a crisis of faith. I wish to tell them that it's alright. Many individuals - especially those with proper education and above average intelligence - endure periods of diffusion. They begin questioning the church in which they where reared. They commence their own research, sometimes trying on various doctorines like so many pairs of designer jeans. This is perfectly normal. With the proper counseling, most of these individuals live out their lives as healthy, functional Atheists.
What one must realize is that all religion is crap. CRAP. You heard me. Don't make a face like I've said something shocking. Any monkey with a grasp of basic logic can deduce that the very principle of theism is TOTAL HOGWASH.
You Catholics out there, you Muslims, Jews, Shintos, Santerians, Goddess Worshipers, Neopagans, Wiccans, Baptists, Lutherins, and all other denominations I'm too lazy to list: you are all delusional. It's time to get real.
So how does one go about "getting real?" I recomend starting with the following film:
Bit of a mind bender, isn't it?
Now that we've loosened a thread, it's time to unravel the gunny sack wrapped around your head. Don't be shy. A little H.L. Mencken will keep you picking at it all night. In his book "On Religion," he poses a plausible theory of the origins and development of theism - that it sprang from the most human of traits, such as fear, greed, and the desire to control others. It's a good read. A bit dry, perhaps, but well worth it.
While you're waiting for the book to arrive from Amazon.com, go ahead and read through 50 simple proofs that theism is nothing but a delusion. It's a great website. Plain language makes it all the more digestable.
Don't you feel better now? Sure, you've lost your safety net, but there's no more cosmic big brother, either.
Only an Atheist can live a truly moral life, for moral behavior performed out of duty to god is simply blind obedience. An atheist who behaves morally and ethically does so out of genuine humanity.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Serves 2 hungry bitches
Scrape together:
- 1 cup whole wheat flour
- 1 cup milk
- 1 egg (or 2 whites)
- 2 tbsp butter
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1/4 tsp salt
- a few dashes of cinnamon
- 2 tsp vanilla
Mix flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon in a bowl until well combined. Beat egg/whites in seperate bowl untl frothy, and add to dry mixture. Stir. Add milk bit by bit, stirring mixture all the while, and continue mixing until batter is mostly smooth.
Set frying pan on Medium heat. Drop little bit of butter in pan - about 1 tsp. When butter sizzles, pour about 1/6 mixture in pan. Flip pancake when bubbles rise to the surface of the uncooked side from center of pancake as well as edges. Remove from pan when both sides are golden brown. Repeat 5 times with remaining mixture.
Makes two short stacks of 3 pancakes each. Top with spreadable edible of choice.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
or
The Other White King of Pop
So I'm wandering around Wall-Mart at some ungodly hour of the night when a song comes on the public address system that I've never heard before. The speaker, mounted in the ceiling, was too far away to discern the music perfectly. It had a really good beat. The vocalist - a female - sounded fantastic too, although it was hard to hear what she was saying. However, two lines of lyrics caught my attention:
See these shackles baby, I'm your slaaaaave;
I'll let you whip me if I misbehaaaaave . . .
Which, as we all know, is right up my alley.
So I ran home and hopped on google to find out the title and artist behind my new S&M anthem. And wouldn't you know it. It was Justin Timberlake. The song is called Sexy Back. Go ahead and listen to it if you think I'm nuts for mistaking him.
This reminds me of my childhood (doesn't everything?), when the Disney channel used to show clean music videos during the advertising space they couldn't sell off. Michael Jackson - Black and White. Remember that one? Well, back in kindergarten, I was ignorant enough to ask my mom "Who is that lady singing? She's really pretty!"
I sense that the King's throne won't remain cold for much longer.
Friday, November 10, 2006
or
You Got Purdy Ears
Final Fantasy XII is the most beautiful video game I've ever layed eyes on. Seriously. Square Enix has done it again.
I'm no mad fan of RPGs, but I have to appreciate their work, for the artistic value if nothing else. For one, the digital characters are strikingly life-like. Their eyes exhibit saccade motion, for christsake. And their expressions . . . astounding. No longer do they appear boxy and souless to any degree. Great voice acting (finally!) brings the whole package together.
Another thing I'm fond of are the filler characters and general populace. A certain degree of randomness has worked its way into their programming, so that if you watch a particular sprite for a while, its actions seem natural, free of the precision that burdened his predecessors.
Oh, I also love the elimination of that turn-based battle bullshit. I mean, really, what self-respecting monster plays eenie meenie, waiting patiently for retaliation after every attack? I'm all about the real-time, baby.
Great music, too, though I can't justify sending away to Japan for it at sixty bucks a pop.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
or
She's Bi . . . partisan
To be honest, gentle readers, I don't give a water-damaged holographic Pokemon sticker about the election. You heard me. I don't. I don't even know what we were supposed to have been voting for, or why. Naturally, I skipped the polls. Just like I skipped the papers, CNN.com, Fox News, and the company of anyone who assumedly has a political opinion. This pretty much limited me to recorded episodes of Robot Chicken and Zack's head in my lap, but I don't care. I'm infinately saner for my abstinance.
Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, a concerned Kindergartener named Larkin wrote an impassioned letter to former president George Bush Sr. In her missive, the child poured forth her views on nature and natural resources, and implored the president for justification as to his shitty-ass environmental policies. She also suggested that the United States of America adopt free or subsidized health care, like other civilized nations.
Days and weeks passed. The child checked the mailbox every day, in hopes that the President's reply would be waiting for her among her parents' bills and magazines. Four weeks later, it arrived - a thick envelope addressed to Larkin Dennis. At last!
But when she severed the packet's seams, no heartfelt response slid out onto the table. Instead she found a glossy booklet about the white house, and a sterile form letter. Not even the signature at the bottom was real, it's likeness having been printed in the same ink as the text.
And she never payed attention to politics again. The END.
Though that isn't to say I'm not a patriot. I recently made a pilgrimage to the pulsing brain-tumor of capitalism they call THE MALL OF AMERICA. In case you're uninformed, The Mall of America is so big that there is an amusement park inside of it. The roller-coasters were pretty cool, though I adored the carousel. Here's a picture of me riding a giant cock:
Zack, not to be outdone, chose to straddle the first pussy he could find:
Blessed is this sacred land.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
or
P.O.M.C.!!!
I'm in Minnesota right now. Don't fucking ask me why. But anyhow, up here they have a grocery store up here called Kowalski's that's chock full of gourmet/organic food. Kind of like Central Market, if you've ever had experience with that. Anyhow, they have some really delightful prepared sushi in the coldcase, and at 2am, a container of such sounded good. So I went to Kowalski's. I picked the "marina combo," which consisted of 2 tuna and 2 eel nigiri, as well as 8 pieces of that conspicuously american bastardization, the california roll. On the way out of the store, they have 12 or so little plastic bins into which customers are invited to place their reciepts. Each bin is labeled with a charity. March of Dimes, Wildlife Fund, and so forth. The store donates a certain ammount to each charity depending on how many receipts are in its respective box.
I usually don't give 2 shits about the human race in general, but there was one charity that caught my eye. The bin read: Parents of Murdered Children.
Wow. Hmm. A non-profit organization so blunt, it's . . . well, the sort of thing I'd make up for a laugh. I put my receipt in the bin.
Friday, November 03, 2006
or
DAD?!
The Placebo concert really fucking rocked. Here is a cell phone picture of Brian (left) and Stefan (right).
1. The venue itself was extremely intimate. My entourage showed up early enough that we were able to secure standing room about 2 rows back from the stage. I had a very clear and up-close view the entire time.
2. She Wants Revenge is pretty bad-ass. Their lights were the best I have EVER seen at a concert. They had, at various intervals around the stage, a few panels affixed with what appeared to be superbright multicolored LEDs. The LEDs would flicker on and off in time to the music, creating directional color saturation that contrasted with the lights rigged above the stage. Am I making any sense? Imagine the lead singer with lime green on the left, acid pink on the right, strobe above, and it suddenly . . . well, you just had to be there.
3. The lead singer for She Wants Revenge looked a LOT like Zack's dad. We knew it couldn't be, but it was still eerie.
4. Corey and I had chocolate cake shots.
5. There were these two preppy "OMFG Sex In The City" underage bitches that elbowed and kicked their way in front of me and Corey. I responded by pretending to be a drunk-as-fuck lesbian from hell. "What's up, ladies," I said, flicking my tongue between my first and middle fingers in the universal symbol for cunnilingus. I began to grind against them with the music. When that failed, I poked one of them in the butt with my thumb. About 30 times in 2 minutes. The two girls switched places. "You know what guys," I drawled to my companions, "girls like those two, back home, they'd be dead or pregnant by age 20. GUERR-AN-TEEED." That did it.
6. When Placebo took the stage, I shed a tear of joy and almost had a spontaneous orgasm. Seriously. No, I mean it. I almost came. Take the case of Beatlemania. Women would fall down and have spontaneous orgasms the minute the fab four showed their faces. Well, the same thing happened to me. I really really REALLY fucking LOVE that band.
7. Placebo played a mean set. And my god, do they have stage presence. Brian gazes into the crowd as he sings and does a good bit of moving around. Stefan (the bassist) gazed into the crowd for most of the show. I may be crazy, but he seemed to make eye contact with me quite a number of times - probably because my hair is SO bright that you can see it from space. Once or twice, he leaned out into the fray of the crowd, attacking his bass, allowing the audience to grab and caress his spidery limbs.
8. I made eyes at a dolled-up, ponytailed, goth prettyboi. He said he liked my hair. That was kind of cool.
9. This rather officious looking guy wormed his way through the crowd. "Excuse me, coming through."
"Can I feel you up as you pass?" I asked.
"Sure, if you want to."
And so I did. And it was good.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
or
Gay Bar
It's been too long, gentle readers, but I'll spare you the formalities. I am at this very moment in Minnesota, crouched on a long-distance friend's futon, of all fucking places. In November. Voluntarily.
Yesss. For the great Molko has willed it, and I am helpless but to make his wishes so. Especially since Corey was cool with us crashing at her pad.
Placebo is here. Tonight, they're playing at the Fine Line Music Cafe, and I'm holding three tickets. That's Me, Corey, and Zack, if you weren't listening. God only knows how I'm going to occupy my twitching mind until then.
Zack and I arrived around midnight, shivering in the teeshirts we'd selected that morning in 70 degree Houston. We had much to learn.
COREY: "So we're in St. Paul right now, and over that way is Minneapolis."
ME: "Which one is the twin city?"
COREY: "Uh, they both are."
ME: "You mean there's TWO twin cities?"
COREY: "Yes. That's why they call them TWINS."
This morning, I learned more about Minnesota while eating brunch at a local diner. Based upon a random sample of all visible customers and waitstaff, I have determined that Old White Men represent a staggering 66% of Minnesota's population, followed by Unmarriagable White Horses at 32%. Naturally, the remaining 2% - which we shall henceforth affectionately call "other" - is composed of the Mexican short-order cook, Zachary, and yours truly.
After breakfast, I bought some energy bars from a health food store down the lane. The cashier may or may not have been a real lesbian. Hard to tell for sure, as I hear they've been breeding them in captivity these days.
Ta ta for now. I'm off to start playing with eye liner.
