Haunted Post

A raven just flew by my window.

Fear has disappeared from television/movies and entered video games, as far as I'm concerned. Perhaps my behind-the-scenes experience on the sets of such chilling dramas as The OC is responsible for this opinion (though I'm still rarely as scared as I am when Summer and Seth are apart). Or perhaps, more likely, movies largely suck today, with ubiquitous "surprise!" cats jumping from shadows and "gross-out!" syringes piercing victim's skin (Yes, Jigsaw, I am calling you out, if you dare return...). Regardless, this is how it is, and this is why I present to you my text-based computer game: Untold Secret.


To begin, exit out of this window, download the Opera browser, and relaunch this page.

Did you succeed? If so, be afraid of the control foolish blogs can have on your mind! You are naught but a leech, feeding off the instructions of others whose brains have been filled with the evil of bake sales gone by. Banana bread contains the witchcraft of the deepest jungles of Africa, or didn't you know...

To continue, tap the right button on your mouse. (What? Are you an Apple user? You idiot! Apples are the worst platforms for gaming. You will have to wait until next year when I release a Mac version.) Note the various options. Choose "View Page Info." Here you'll see unintelligble computer lingo, which is closely linked to the writings of the ancient Mayans...

Look out! A blood-hungry jaguar!

You survived, but you lost three gallons of milk. Find the badge of lactose intolerance to nullify this loss.

I hope you're still viewing the page info I told you to. If not, be afraid of the lack of control foolish blogs have on your mind! "All must at some point obey the wisdom of those who have come before." - The Black Wizard. Anyway, select the "Links tab" and find the second timestamp in the "Name" column. Write that number down on a check (ignoring decimals), make that check out to me, and put it in the mail. Thanks very much.

According to Google images, the Black Wizard looks like this. Nice.

The raven is sitting outside my window.

Does your computer possess an Nvidia graphics card? If so, congratulations. This experience is surely more fulfilling for you than it is for lesser-carded peons. You may also select a "Faded Photograph" for your inventory. Choose a number from 1 to 3 and read on to learn about your acquisition.

Did you select 1? If so, then you actually selected 3, which is a picture of a plantation once owned by a white supremacist. The slaves revolted and strung the owner and his family up in their own false airs of pretension. You can still hear the spirituals being sung in the distance. "Strange fruit...Blood on the leaves and blood on the root..."

Did you select 2? If so, then you actually selected 2, which is a picture of a castle in the deepest woods of Bulgaria. Rumor has it, this castle isn't actually a castle at all, but a possessed hotel! And the story surrounding the hotel is that it was once used as a prison for mental patients! Mental patients who had once been leaders of a Satanic cult! Scary!

Did you select 3? If so, then you actually selected 4, which is out of the range of acceptable options. Not only will you not receive a "Faded Photograph" card, but you must reboot your computer in DOS mode. Do it.

Whatever the path you chose, you're almost at the end. Please go to the bathroom so as to prevent any unwanted embarassments from occurring in this final leg of the journey. If you're playing this game in your office, you must use the bathroom of the opposite sex. Why? Because a lingering ghost has blinded your vision with its despair! That which you think is the men's room is actually the women's, and vice versa. NEVER USE THE UNISEX HANDICAPPED BATHROOM! IT'S UNFAIR TO THOSE WHO REALLY NEED IT!

Okay then. Here is your final task. Swivel your chair to the...

What's this? The raven has flown through my closed window and is now perched on my right arm. I don't think I have any bread left to feed it, after the elaborate "bread boy" costume I made and wore last night, but there might be some food around here. I've never known a wild bird to be so friendly and unafraid of a stranger. Huh... it seems to want to whisper something in my ear. Go ahead, raven. Go ahead and whisper in my ear whatever it is you have to say...

AHJREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mona Lisa Smile

People don't talk about that movie enough anymore.

After weeks of hammering cracks in my walls with the hope that creepy vines would start growing out of them, I finally gave in and bought one of those "potted" plants. They seem to be all the rage, now that people don't keep dirt piles in their rooms. In any case, the acquisition turned out to be more difficult than expected, as apparently I was still married to a petunia I bought back in Vegas in 1998. That disaster had to be annulled (thank god she didn't seed), and I had to defend my position as a flora owner in front of the British Agricultural Board. An excerpt:

Board Member 1: Sir, at what point in the day would you water your plant?
Me: At the time appointed by nature.
Board Member 1: An excellent evasive maneuver, sir, but I rephrase: At what point on the clock - British Standard Time - would you water the plant?
Me: I don't really know how to convert American time into British time.
Board Member 1: Sir! You go to school in this country. You live in this country. Surely you must know what time it is in this country.
Me: Time to get a new and British watch?
Board Member 2: That's what I was going to say! Jokes are fun!

Time passed, the board members fell asleep, and I stole the stencil they use to draw seals of approval on applications. Thusly I was awarded planternity, and Planty the dragon-something plant sits comfortably on my sill.

Of course, you want to see pictures of my new boy?/girl?, and I don't intend to disappoint. However, I must apologize ahead of time for the rodent corrupting the picture. Every time I go to take a picture of Planty, who sits oh so nobly in the window, a crazy, button-eyed beast hops beneath its leaves. I can't shoo it away, either, because as soon as I even start to brush my hand thusly...

Pretend this is an animated .gif

... it droops its ears. Science shows that droopy-eared animals cannot be anything but adorable, and my shoo inevitably becomes a coo. You're not doubting science, are you? You might be, so here's a statistic set from this month's International Relations journal. The study compared the percentage droop in rabbits' ears to the land mine concentration in regions inhabited by said rabbits:

0% droop => 100% land mineage
25% droop => 60% land mineage
50% droop => 35% land mineage
75% droop => 15% land mineage
100% droop => .0001% land mineage (the exception: Worcester, Massachusetts)

The predictive capabilities of this empirical data are troublesome for Arctic regions which feature only straight-haired snowy rabbits. Fortunately for me, my Wisconsin backyard features the grave of Dandy (full name Dandruff), my wonderful Holland lop (Rest In Parsley). All I have to worry about are sandhill cranes, which data shows are 100% capable of scaring the triforce out of me.

Board Member 2: That's what I was going to say! Video game references are fun!
Me: Shut up.

So you're going to have to deal with the best picture I can take under the circumstances. Nevertheless, note Planty's firm veins and glossy chloroform. He?/She? is an incredible specimen, neighbored by forest animals or not. I cannot wait to wake up every morning and see Planty's growth, and I cannot wait until March, which is when I think I'm supposed to water it.

You stupid s%@f#&.... Awwwwwwwwwwww...

Candy or Sunshine

The first one of you to correctly identify the connection between the above title (hint: think Michael J. Fox movies) and the date on which I publish this post (hint: think non-Michael J. Fox movies) will win a poster of Margaret Thatcher (hint: because I don't want it).

Prepare yourselves now for a journey through my mind, as it actually unfolded Wednesday during the most mind-numblingly boring class I've ever endured. I only survived because I afterwards raced over to a gym to reenergize myself with a body mass index measurement. It's an invigorating experience that I'm almost stunned didn't play some part in my movie-of-the-summer Crank (hint: think non-Michael F. Snox movies). After a few minutes of poking and prodding, I learned my organs were all of average weight... except for my brain, which had, as suggested above, been numbed into a lesser state of matter.

Embrace, for the journey hath begun:

*********

10:01 - I learn that today's Research Methods class will focus on how to effectively take notes, read articles, and avoid plagiarism. I immediately regret not drinking more the night before.
10:05 - I realize that listening to the lecture is no longer an option, and I begin to doodle. It's a cat.
10:23 - The cat now sits under a mushroom umbrella. It is joined by another cat who's wearing a visor and carrying a jack-o-lantern. Above them are two twisted Pac-men eating a shiny apple, a mutated duck/lion singing eighth notes, and the sun. Below them is the sea, with one two-headed fish and a whale/island.


10:25 - I feel my time would better be used on poetry.
10:41 - The poem is complete. It's a bit lengthy, but you can find the unabridged draft at the end of this post.
10:43 - I draw a picture to go along with the poem. It shows a man in a viking/cowboy hat carrying moneybags. You might notice that my drawings feature many slash-separated images such as duck/lion and viking/cowboy. This is because I can't draw. My intentions inevitably divide into many ultimate realities. Oh, I put a sun on this picture as well. I like the sun.
10:46 - I try to pay attention again. This attempt soon transforms into an attempt at playing sub-Atari quality games like Brick on my iPod without being noticed by the teacher. This attempt soon ends with the revelation that I should have brought my Nintendo DS.

Me playing my DS.

10:53 - I start to notice that the teacher is only about halfway through her material although the class is almost over.
10:54 - I start to sweat.
10:57 - It hits me. I write a note to Victoria next to me asking when the class ends. She writes "12." I die inside. A lot.
10:59 - I sweat profusely.
11:00 - I run out of liquid to sweat, making this otherwise symbolic timestamp quite anticlimactic.
11:02 - I draw a picture of a sword going through a heart. All subtelty has been lost.
11:05 - I begin to write a timeline about history itself. I call it the "History of History." It's an ambitious project, I know, but I lessen the load by beginning in the year 1900, in which "History is born." I continue this project only up to the year 1924 before growing bored. Some highlights include:
1903 - History attends a pretentious nursery school.
1909 - History wins a writing contest for its short story "Sam the Cat."
1910 - History gets a pet cat and names it Robert.
1914 - History starts to hate its parents.
11:17 - Those sitting near me, such as Victoria, start to worry about my health when they see a comic I've just drawn. The art shows a one-toothed baby saying, "I want to learn how to write good." The r's are written backwards all cutely and shit. The art also shows a malicious, Moriarty-like character responding to the baby with the exclamation, "No! You're Dumb!"
11:29 - I recover from the slight embarassment of having my insanity revealed by sketching a Latin American villa. There are five buildings in the town, which from left to right are: una paneria (a bread store), una carcel (a jail), una escuela (a school), una tienda de navidad (a Christmas store), and un edificio abandonado (an abandoned building). There's also a fountain, OF COURSE!


11:40 - The rest of my time is spent drawing bodies which fall out of a chute on the top of a page and into a grave on the bottom of the same page. In each margin I pen numerous sad-looking cats, each waving a paw "goodbye" at the bodies. I will not post this image here because I do not want to be condemned to the loony bin until after Christmas. Those train sets in La Tienda de Navidad looked too fun!
11:59 - Class ends one minute early. I'm too dead to know.

***********

Untitled Poem

Embraced upon the summer storm
The man came down from on his throne
And greeted thee with less than he
With money, power, gold and glee
The men to man did not know where
To spend their latest summer fare
And said to man from up on high
"Please take it back now to the sky"
For as the man forgot to know
Those who do not have cannot but glow
But not glow, glow, we do not heed
Because we are from different steed
We cannot talk, because we're dumb
We cannot speak, because we're mum
We open our mouths, yes, it's true
Yet just to eat our poor man's stew
Made of beans and rice and grass
And animals who cross our path
Food we do, but else we don't
We pave the path to heaven's moat
With bodies gone and empty minds
And other goods that you might find
When back upon the throne you sit.
Unbothered by death.
Unbothered a bit.

Becoming the Worst

I told Dave I'd take lots of pictures of me doing crazy, London things and post them here. I haven't.

I told Dave I'd head up to Barnsley to get him a soccer jersey. I haven't.

I told Dave I'd kill a hooker, wrap her in fish 'n chips, and send the package to each of his ex-girlfriends in turn.

In other words, I'm becoming the worst blogger I've ever been, including the time before blogs were invented. At least then I would express my ideas weekly on The McLaughlin Group. It's ironic that bloggers actually led to my firing from that show, after revealing my on-air "egg-sandwich connoisseur" persona was a falsity. You could honestly say that I left that job with egg on my face.

(Studio audience laughs)

This week's topic: Will we ever again be relevant?

One thing I have successfully done this week is inform a British girl about the American phenomenon of "Awful Waffles." She responded with one of those wry British looks which means, "You shouldn't be allowed in schools like this one." It's an interesting look that (at least this is the feeling I get) many foreign students seem to have acquired as well.

I also successfully dealt with my reclusion issues this week by joining a group of early Halloweeners called ETA. I wanted to be a part of something, and these guys all had masks on, so I figured I'd sign up. The guys are hilarious. They talk about how Barcelona should have its own country! Have you even ever heard of Barcelona?! Neither have I. I always kid them that when they do become independent they should hire a unicorn for president and a centaur for the president's mistress. Then they do this thing where they show how funny they think I am by cocking their rifles in unison. It's great stuff. Really cutting edge.

Or should I say firing edge?

(Studio audience yawns)

Is there an alternative rock band yet with the name Estimated Time of Arrival? There should be, just as you should be listening to The Silent Explosion's upcoming EP The Devil Rounds Down. "How," you ask, "can I listen to an upcoming EP?" We're talking about music, man.

There are no limits. Except for time.

Listen for that lyric/concept in Track 5.