I think this blog is getting on its feet, even though the collective sum of people viewing it is upwards in the single digits.
I guess that's how all blogs start, as nothing.
I'm taking this post to inform you of something I'm going to be referencing a lot in the coming months (Or years? OMG, YEARS?! CAN IT LAST THAT LONG?! CAN -I- LAST THAT LONG?!). It's called Club Live. Basically its a Microsoft-run program where you play shitty-ass word games, and earn points which can eventually (and I mean that in every sense of the word) be redeemed for prizes. Since this is an American program, I've had to ship items I've won to friends in the US (You guys fucking r00l), and they'd ship them to me. Thus far, I've received (Vicariously through them), An Xbox 360 controller, a Microsoft wireless keyboard/mouse, 2 T-Shirts, another (black) Xbox controller, and a deck of cards. At this point, I only have the white controller in my hands, but I'm patiently (HA!) waiting for the others to get here.
Over the last 4 days, I've placed orders on the Xbox 360 games: Lost Odyssey, Gears of War(1), Too Human, Scene it! 2: Box Office Smash, and another Xbox controller that doubles as a controller for windows-based games and/or emulators.
I'll be keeping this blog posted on when/if I receive my shit (They have a nasty habit of with holding errors. I can't imagine why.
O_o.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Fields of Gold: Vespid Wasps Revisited
I figure I should explain why Vespids and I are enemies, since I kind of left that unresolved in my "Yellow Terror" post.
Picture this. It's 199(1?), at some nondescript cabin-camp site in a town called White Fish Falls, which as is my understanding, was somewhere near sudbury. My brother and I were just little-'uns and were playing a game of "Hide the Rock" with our stepbrother (not official by marriage). We decided the best place to hide said rock was on a small mountainous rocky structure, inside of an old abandoned log. Our stepbrother (Eric) clearly knew this and dumbly went along with it
"Hmm... I wonder where it is... Could it be HERE?"
He kicked the log, giggles from my brother and I. How could he possibly figure out that it was in there with the giveaway chuckles pointing out that his assumption was correct? The laughter faded once we heard what could only be described as the sound of a power generator. But, what's this? no one had a generator! But what was this noise?
I'll fucking tell you what it was..
THAT!!! TIMES LIKE, OVER NINE THOUSAND!!!!!!!
They swarmed us. You know how in the cartoons where the cloud of bees attacks those intent on pilfering honey? Well, its true. they do that, and so they did, and so we felt.
We ran like hell down the stony structure, wailing tales of agony and defeat as the neighboring children looked in awe. When all was said and done, we both individually wound up with over 50 stings.
This my friends, is why I fucking hate Vespids.
They can fucking die for all I care. fuck pollenation.
Bitter much?
Picture this. It's 199(1?), at some nondescript cabin-camp site in a town called White Fish Falls, which as is my understanding, was somewhere near sudbury. My brother and I were just little-'uns and were playing a game of "Hide the Rock" with our stepbrother (not official by marriage). We decided the best place to hide said rock was on a small mountainous rocky structure, inside of an old abandoned log. Our stepbrother (Eric) clearly knew this and dumbly went along with it
"Hmm... I wonder where it is... Could it be HERE?"
He kicked the log, giggles from my brother and I. How could he possibly figure out that it was in there with the giveaway chuckles pointing out that his assumption was correct? The laughter faded once we heard what could only be described as the sound of a power generator. But, what's this? no one had a generator! But what was this noise?
I'll fucking tell you what it was..
THAT!!! TIMES LIKE, OVER NINE THOUSAND!!!!!!!
They swarmed us. You know how in the cartoons where the cloud of bees attacks those intent on pilfering honey? Well, its true. they do that, and so they did, and so we felt.
We ran like hell down the stony structure, wailing tales of agony and defeat as the neighboring children looked in awe. When all was said and done, we both individually wound up with over 50 stings.
This my friends, is why I fucking hate Vespids.
They can fucking die for all I care. fuck pollenation.
Bitter much?
Fields of Gold: Journey to the Center of Plastic
There comes a time in every child's life when they get the stupidest idea in their head and it melds its way into their brain. And no matter how dull this idea is, it starts to make sense and eventually it becomes as true as night and day. What is a child (a Fortune child, no less) to do when a stupid idea almost promises to yield fantastic results? Dig a fucking hole in your grandparent's backyard, that's what!
The details to me are quite fuzzy on how this idea came to be, but my brother came to me one weekend day whilst I was playing the Nintendo, or perhaps it was some form of dangerous gadgetry... Who cares? He told me of something that shocked and bewildered me. Apparently some kid from school told him that under the dirt crust of the earth, some 100 feet down, was a layer of molten plastic! HOLY FUCKING SHITWAFERS! PLASTIC?!
I held onto his every word as he detailed a plan on how we were to acquire said plastic, and use it to make our own toys. I felt like a kid in a candy shop, only the candy was molten plastic. We set off on our journey, wielding shovels and work gloves and found a good spot to dig, from there the rest was cake. And by cake, I mean impossible to do. We got about 1 foot into the ground when we hit the solid clay layer and gave up. (ADD, anyone?) It was not until 2 days later when our Grandma discovered the hole and then made us fill it (Why is it that when you dig a hole and try to fill it, there isnt enough dirt left to fill the hole completely?). To this day, I still wonder if the center of the earth is made up of a man made material at 100 feet below ground level.
The details to me are quite fuzzy on how this idea came to be, but my brother came to me one weekend day whilst I was playing the Nintendo, or perhaps it was some form of dangerous gadgetry... Who cares? He told me of something that shocked and bewildered me. Apparently some kid from school told him that under the dirt crust of the earth, some 100 feet down, was a layer of molten plastic! HOLY FUCKING SHITWAFERS! PLASTIC?!
I held onto his every word as he detailed a plan on how we were to acquire said plastic, and use it to make our own toys. I felt like a kid in a candy shop, only the candy was molten plastic. We set off on our journey, wielding shovels and work gloves and found a good spot to dig, from there the rest was cake. And by cake, I mean impossible to do. We got about 1 foot into the ground when we hit the solid clay layer and gave up. (ADD, anyone?) It was not until 2 days later when our Grandma discovered the hole and then made us fill it (Why is it that when you dig a hole and try to fill it, there isnt enough dirt left to fill the hole completely?). To this day, I still wonder if the center of the earth is made up of a man made material at 100 feet below ground level.
I guess no one will ever find out.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Fields of Gold: The Yellow Terror
Just an intro for you, Fields of gold is a series I'll do to recap the horrors and terrors that laid in wait for my brother and I at our grandmother's house on weekend visits. Each will detail a different thing, or event that made up my childhood, and may give you all insight as to why I'm so fucked up.
--------------
Looking back on my young life, dear reader (readers?) I would have to say that some of my fondest memories stemmed from my time (Mostly weekends due to custody bullshit) at my Grandma and Grandpa (God bless his soul)'s house somewhere in the country (Sorry, not Mapquesting it for you. Its best you don't know.). Every Friday either or Grandparent would pick us up after school in the '82 Oldsmobile my Grandfather won in the lottery some years before (maybe it was, oh, I don't know.. 1982?), and take us to their humble abode, which I will will detail in further entries. While on the way we would regularly stop at a fringe game rental shoppe and rent the coolest newest NES games, like Jaws... and..... Jaws 2....
Our grandpa used to work for Frito Lay as a truck driver, and Grand ma as a bus driver, transporting RabbleRousers to and from learning establishments and it was with this job she somehow acquired a broken down bus which served as storage and generalized unaesthetics as it sat motionless at the side of the house.What this meant for the young impressionable Fortune children was that we had a place to hang, to play, to just be. And on certain harebrained occasions, a place to climb on top of and jump 20 feet off of onto the rocky and broken glass covered ground (seriously.). Stupid? Yes. Crazy, Fun? Also yes. But, suicidal jumps aside, the bus was the focal point of numerous play adventures, some of which involved playing "SPEED". I was Keanu Reeves!!!! Among the articles stored inside this bus was an old desk from the depression and a ham radio, presumably from WW2 (my grandfather was a veteran!) and assorted junk (COMING SOON: THE STORY OF THE JUNK!). One article I'll never forget. We stumbled upon a bottle of motor oil within the Yellow Terror (That's what we called it, or, what I'm calling it now.) We shook the bottle and heard there was something inside. Curious youths that we were, we opened the bottle. What we found inside was a quarter of unused motor oil, and a mouse. Yes, a fucking mouse. A dead one. (Of course, right? Mice cant live in sealed motor oil bottles... Right? RIGHT?!). Its still very unclear after all these years how it got into the bottle in the first place, as attempts to remove him proved unsuccessful. He was too big to get out, so how'd he manage entry, then close the bottle behind him? How long was he in there? As far as I knew, no one else entered the bus, and I doubt anyone there would put a mouse in a bottle of motor oil and close it. If he was there for a long time, why didn't he decompose at all?
We diced to do the right thing and send the mouse off in one of our many bonfires. The mystery remains to this day unsolved. Now, the glory of the Yellow Terror was not without its problems and tragedies. (That is of course, to say that jumping off it isn't a problem.) Being in a countrylike setting meant mother nature could pretty much have her way with whatever the fuck she wanted and the cops would turn a blind eye because she was paying them all off, which meant my nemesis species, the Vespid Wasp, otherwise known as the YellowJacket thought the Yellow Terror to be his home. This made co-existing difficult, and at times when we didn't have RAID, impossible.
The good (?) times eventually were cut short by what can be chalked up to an act of money-needing. the bus had to be sold for scrap! The local Towboy hitched that mutha up and proceeded to haul her away, when she suddenly awoke and realized what was happening. Acting on impulse, she forced one of her own wheels off in a last ditch effort to remain beside the house. It failed, and what remained after she was gone was a giant gash from the axle in both the driveway, and the dirt road leading up to it.
One last fuck you from the Yellow Terror.
--------------
Looking back on my young life, dear reader (readers?) I would have to say that some of my fondest memories stemmed from my time (Mostly weekends due to custody bullshit) at my Grandma and Grandpa (God bless his soul)'s house somewhere in the country (Sorry, not Mapquesting it for you. Its best you don't know.). Every Friday either or Grandparent would pick us up after school in the '82 Oldsmobile my Grandfather won in the lottery some years before (maybe it was, oh, I don't know.. 1982?), and take us to their humble abode, which I will will detail in further entries. While on the way we would regularly stop at a fringe game rental shoppe and rent the coolest newest NES games, like Jaws... and..... Jaws 2....
Our grandpa used to work for Frito Lay as a truck driver, and Grand ma as a bus driver, transporting RabbleRousers to and from learning establishments and it was with this job she somehow acquired a broken down bus which served as storage and generalized unaesthetics as it sat motionless at the side of the house.What this meant for the young impressionable Fortune children was that we had a place to hang, to play, to just be. And on certain harebrained occasions, a place to climb on top of and jump 20 feet off of onto the rocky and broken glass covered ground (seriously.). Stupid? Yes. Crazy, Fun? Also yes. But, suicidal jumps aside, the bus was the focal point of numerous play adventures, some of which involved playing "SPEED". I was Keanu Reeves!!!! Among the articles stored inside this bus was an old desk from the depression and a ham radio, presumably from WW2 (my grandfather was a veteran!) and assorted junk (COMING SOON: THE STORY OF THE JUNK!). One article I'll never forget. We stumbled upon a bottle of motor oil within the Yellow Terror (That's what we called it, or, what I'm calling it now.) We shook the bottle and heard there was something inside. Curious youths that we were, we opened the bottle. What we found inside was a quarter of unused motor oil, and a mouse. Yes, a fucking mouse. A dead one. (Of course, right? Mice cant live in sealed motor oil bottles... Right? RIGHT?!). Its still very unclear after all these years how it got into the bottle in the first place, as attempts to remove him proved unsuccessful. He was too big to get out, so how'd he manage entry, then close the bottle behind him? How long was he in there? As far as I knew, no one else entered the bus, and I doubt anyone there would put a mouse in a bottle of motor oil and close it. If he was there for a long time, why didn't he decompose at all?
We diced to do the right thing and send the mouse off in one of our many bonfires. The mystery remains to this day unsolved. Now, the glory of the Yellow Terror was not without its problems and tragedies. (That is of course, to say that jumping off it isn't a problem.) Being in a countrylike setting meant mother nature could pretty much have her way with whatever the fuck she wanted and the cops would turn a blind eye because she was paying them all off, which meant my nemesis species, the Vespid Wasp, otherwise known as the YellowJacket thought the Yellow Terror to be his home. This made co-existing difficult, and at times when we didn't have RAID, impossible.
The good (?) times eventually were cut short by what can be chalked up to an act of money-needing. the bus had to be sold for scrap! The local Towboy hitched that mutha up and proceeded to haul her away, when she suddenly awoke and realized what was happening. Acting on impulse, she forced one of her own wheels off in a last ditch effort to remain beside the house. It failed, and what remained after she was gone was a giant gash from the axle in both the driveway, and the dirt road leading up to it.
One last fuck you from the Yellow Terror.
Post the first
Oh, how many years and blogs have gone by. Some with multiple posts, some with 3, or some with one, and a metric fuckton with none.
What would possess me to make another one? So the world can hear (read?) me, because somewhere out there, people are interested in hearing (again, reading?) what I have to say, be it a view on the socio-economic overturn, or just a rant about some stupid bitch that cut me off in the grocery store and stood in the aisle for 5 minutes, blocking it with herself and the cart, when she clearly didn't actually need to compare and contrast 5 different types of toothpaste!
Perhaps I'm getting off track here.
What you can expect, if I post anything at all, is that shit, maybe a review of a game I'm playing, or a word on a victory over online heirarchies of prize giving.
Adieu, for now, non-existent reader.
What would possess me to make another one? So the world can hear (read?) me, because somewhere out there, people are interested in hearing (again, reading?) what I have to say, be it a view on the socio-economic overturn, or just a rant about some stupid bitch that cut me off in the grocery store and stood in the aisle for 5 minutes, blocking it with herself and the cart, when she clearly didn't actually need to compare and contrast 5 different types of toothpaste!
Perhaps I'm getting off track here.
What you can expect, if I post anything at all, is that shit, maybe a review of a game I'm playing, or a word on a victory over online heirarchies of prize giving.
Adieu, for now, non-existent reader.
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