I am a (slowly) recovering assholeolic. However, deep within still resides the die-hard cynic. I'm trying not to be a misogyn/misanthrop/ist but its a rough transition. I'm endeavoring!
I like to fly under the radar. I try not to be one of those obnoxious douchebags who annoys people in public or desperately draws attention to myself. I’m not ashamed (or in denial) to admit that I actually care what people think of me (excluding temporary situational circumstances of course). I try to be honest and tactful which is easier to do now that I've pretty much bitten my tongue (and foot) off.
I’m also a slacker at heart, though responsibility and age are making it more and more difficult to pull off. Moreover, I’m a zealous maverick. I don’t blindly rebel against all authority... just the scenarios that negatively a/effect my free will, common sense, and comfortabilities... which is pretty much all of it, but I do conform on some levels (rare occurrence). I also don’t hate trendy things just because they’re popular and new... I hate them because they usually suck and are just regurgitated crap. But I do make an effort not to be so dogdamnmatic about it.
Politically I’m more or less apathetic and ignorant. This can make the satire I enjoy a bit hypocritical. Whatever. I’m not completely intellectually retarded though. I’m always spending time learning useless knowledge and trivial facts (Wikipedia!). I’m a big fan of pretentious philosophy, pseudo-psychology, Greek mythology, and of course, quantum temporal mechanics. Most literature bores me. Plus I have a short attention span (ADD?) so I mainly stick to graphic novels, sparknotes, sardonic non-fiction, and anything with pictures of naked women.
For music, I like Lennon and Dylan, and anyone influenced by them. Music today is more style over substance and there is just so much of it, it’s hard to weed out the shit from the shittier, so I hardly ever bother. However, I like to keep an open mind and always accidentally find some rare exceptions. Unlike most people these days, music doesn’t run my life. I barely listen to it anymore.
I'm not as passionate about movies as I used to be. In concept they peak my interest, but in execution they disappoint more than deliver (never had this problem with hawkknife!). But its mindless entertainment nonetheless, and my curiosity usually outweighs my doubts. Plus it can always turn into something to wittingly mock in good fellowship.
I tend to gravitate towards people who like to keep a low profile and just chill. I’m not much of a partier or hipster, so clubs, keggers, and concerts aren’t really my scene. I've also mysteriously maintained many voyeurs, and I do achieve some satisfaction from that sad fact. I'm hopelessly passionate about unrequited friendships (and guilt trips!).
I'm constantly evolving. I tend to look at other's flaws and then consciously detach it from my personality. Its easy to come in here and "preach" to the flock when I've got a computer screen (and thesaurus) to hide behind, but right now I’m focusing my attentions to the outside world. Any discontent is mainly reserved for cyberland, and myspace provides the perfect medium in which to go into tirades -- unwarranted or not (It’s just a persona folks, don’t take me too seriously).
And if you can't tell by now I’m very enthusiastic about my sarcastic articulation. I promise you I don’t suffer from delusions of grandeur (except when I suffer from delusions of grandeur). Nevertheless, enough justification... if you’re easily offended then there probably isn’t a diplomatic enough way for me to convey my thoughts. We'll both survive without each other's company. Blog fodder!
They say that pride goeth before the fall, and I'm a shining example.
Dude, WTF is up with your blogs?
Well, you see, I felt constrained by my ordinary real-life environment. Nevermore, I said, nevermore. Blogging provides a medium in which the crispy, flaky, tender morsels of dehydrated feces that adorn my voluptuous flesh could finally taste the air of freedom. Much to the delight, I am given to understand, of legions of fans. I also like to inform people that they are wrong -- especially when they aren't. Blogging provides the perfect medium for this as I can place the whole world's inferiority on display and pretend that everyone thanks me for it. What a better planet this would be to inhabit if people would simply get up off their mental asses, exercise a little cerebral calisthenics, and fucking learn something other than what the rest of the badly informed and intellectually deficient masses are telling them. (ie: not me)
What stage of life are you in right now?
Backstage... waiting for the curtain call.
What are the key ingredients to having a good relationship
4 cups of Understanding
200 g. of Caring
1 packet (frozen) of Forgiveness
375 ml. of unsalted Romance
Handful of Hugs
2 Tsp. of Sweet Kisses
Lots of Love
What Disney villain are you the most like and why?
Chernabog from Fantasia:
His powers are near limitless; his only weakness is dawn. Chernabog need not utter a word to make his presence felt in the deep reaches of the earth, in a nightmarish world of fire and bones. Just like me!
What does your name mean?
David means 'beloved' in Hebrew.
How do you feel when you see a rainbow?
Butterfly in the sky, I can go twice as high
Have you ever dreamt a dream that came true?
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily...
Do you believe in God and if so what is he/she/it like?
God is a concept by which we measure our pain. Or better yet, a pissed off, entirely unhelpful deity.
What one thing have you done that most people haven't?
Spent way too long pondering on this question.
What insects are you afraid of?
I know all God's creatures have a place in the choir but insects are fucking cunts. As I was walking along last night a giant flying pterodactyl of a foreign cunt of an insect flew right into my mouth. Luckily my ninja reflexes kicked in and I managed to spit the little fucker out before he got a chance to fly down my neck and lay eggs in my stomach. As he flew away I gave him a Walker Texas Ranger style round kick and as he lay on the ground I stomped him to death. The cunt. Then I pissed on his corpse and left his body there for all his insect chums to see. I am not afraid of insects... insects fear me!
What is more helpful to you, wishes or plans?
Well you can plan in one hand, and shit in the other, and see which one gets filled first.
When do you feel your life energy the strongest?
Ejaculation
Would you consider yourself to be intelligent?
Yes I possess innate general cognitive ability.
Have you ever thought about hitchhiking across the country?
Not without a towel!
Do you get offended easily?
I guess so. My tolerance for annoying, stupid, and disgusting humanity, is nonexistent.
What is one central idea that your thoughts seem to come back to?
Solipsism
What sign are you and what is your sign like?
Nuh-uh, nobody does my star chart. That's like stealing your soul.
Are you in constant fear of death?
Yes
Does fear of death keep you from building a life?
Ironic isnt it?
What are your greatest sources for wisdom?
THE WIKIPEDIA
In what sense are you a minority?
In the sense that I am White.
Are you anti-social?
The perks of being a wallflower.
Do you believe in Reincarnation?
By falling apart to atoms and molecules one's building blocks are available for reuse in other growing organisms. Reincarnation is a simple and plausible possibility. Whether the mind got stuck to one of these recycled building blocks is another question, but we are most likely wearing some remnants of other creatures right now. And always will be. Certainty is a luxury these days, especially ever since the advent of quantum physics.
What makes you want to be someone’s friend?
Friendship is based on a lot of compromise, much of which involves frankness and empathy. If it's not there, then neither am I.
What is your favorite line from a song?
Don't think twice, it's alright...
Its very tongue-in-cheek sarcasm. Good ol' bitter Bob at his best.
Are you very precise about what words you use to describe your feelings and thoughts?
Yes. Especially when I know other people are going to read them. Articulation, spelling, and grammar, reflect your intelligence... not your apathy.
Are you ever afraid to write/say/think how you feel?
Yes. The pressure of being ignored for being an idealist, is overwhelming.
Do you take everything that is said literally?
I take it with a grain of salt and a humility enema
Do you have strong opinions and beliefs?
No my opinions and beliefs are subject to change at any given whim.
Are you quick to judge others?
Deep down I am really a bad person. I look twice at Arabs in the airport. I hope the fat lady doesn't sit next to me on the bus. And when I see a cop pull over a black guy, I actually think he has done something wrong (the black guy, not the cop). I guess the only way to fix this "disorder", is to go to ASU and become a liberal arts major and finally understand diversity and then I will be able to stop judging people so accurately.
Are people too complex and different to be categorized?
It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.
How easily do you make friends?
Easier than you’d think.
What small thing annoys you so much it should be a crime?
It's sort of awkward seeing people whore out my childhood. I cringe every time I see a fourteen year old in an A-Team shirt, thinking to myself “You idiot, you weren't old enough to watch the A-Team”. Or Robocop shirts? Listen, I know you kids think Robocop is funny for some reason, because you've declared it dorky and thusly cool, as dorky things are cool now (morons) For shame. I also don't appreciate people touting Ghostbusters, Transformers, Thundercats, G.I. Joe, TMNT, NES, or the Goonies in this trend of same. Stop it. Stop trivializing my culture. I blame this, along with most all of the world's ills, on Hot Topic and their stupid stupidness that they're pushing.
Incidentally, for those of you going for this whole "geek fashion" thing, KNOCK IT OFF. You're embarrassing all the geeks. We don't dress like that. All my friends and I read comic books, play Magic: the Gathering and D&D, program computers, etc (if that's not geek culture, I don't know what is), and none of us wear argyle socks or horn-rimmed glasses or have our pants pulled up to our waists. You're going to look back at pictures of yourselves when you're 30 and wonder what the hell you were thinking (I'm sure most of you 18+ kids are already regretting that star tattoo on the back of your neck, eh?). Then again, what do I care?
Is there honestly much else I can say that will make all the newbie emo hipsters embarrassed to be alive anymore? You bet! But first, I'd like to clarify my intentions regarding this current storyarc. I am not trying to attack emo itself, or even the loyal fanbase. The people I'm really after are the newbie mallpunks and the scene-hopping hipsters who, a year from now, will have donated their navy blue gas station jackets and jars of level 10 hair gel (for that classic "shot through the back of the head" look that seems so popular these days) to Goodwill and will be denying that they were ever actually into such a ridiculous excuse for a subculture in the first place.
It just seems a few people were worried that I didn't know what I was talking about and that I was simply hating emo blindly for the hell of it. C'mon guys, you know me better than THAT! I wouldn't just make fun of the fact that you think being sensitive means dressing like a navy blue clown and gyrating on stage to the sound of your prepubescent voice crackling and squeaking it's way through some riveting sobbing solos, would I? I wouldn't DARE speak lightly of your obvious knack for expressing individuality by dressing just like that picture of My Constipated Romance you saw in the latest issue of Spin magazine! I respect you too much.
Who influences you to be the way you are?
My past self.
Would you enjoy reading fairy tales written about robots?
Those are the best kind. Bedtime stories about the becoming of a soul.
What do you think is the most annoying cliché?
Chuck Norris "jokes"
Sweet dreams are made of this...
It is highly improbable to transcend one's own inherent avarice.
Is it necessary to be repetitive in order to be creative?
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue unto the rainbow, or with taper-light to seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
What inspires your creative juices?
Where do I get my ideas from? You might as well have asked that of Beethoven. He was goofing around in Germany like everybody else, and all of a sudden this stuff came gushing out of him. It was music. I was goofing around like everybody else in Indiana, and all of a sudden stuff came gushing out. It was disgust with civilization.
Which Wizard of Oz character are you most like?
The Wizard of Oz, himself. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
How is your life unlike a movie?
In that the plot isn't compressed into a black hole of incident and imagery.
Do you have any quotes of your own that you admire?
Do I admire any of my own quotes? Yes. Everything I say is gold.
Do you think it's better to look for love or let it find you?
You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
What are your ticklish areas?
My epidermis.
Have you ever turned down an offer for sex?
Death by Snu Snu!!
If you've ever lost touch or went sour with someone you loved, how did it make you feel?
Like puppy dogs licking my face.
Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual?
No its chic. Just ask the queers
How's your karma?
Fair and balanced I suppose. And we all shine on...
Do you believe in astrology, tarot cards, and fortune-telling?
F = Gm1m2/d2 -- approximate formula for the heaven's influence on us.
I really can't add anything else to the epigraph of this answer. Compare the numbers: we're more influenced by sitting up than by an alignment of all planets. When you sit up, your center of gravity is slightly farther from the center of the earth than it was. Even if all the planets lined up exactly, their combined pull would still be smaller than the change caused by sitting up.
Some people might not recognize the formula above. It's Newton's formula for the approximate gravitational attraction between two bodies m1 and m2 separated by distance d. G is the gravitational constant, which is 6.673 × 10-11 cubic meters per kilogram per second squared. This formula is a non-relativistic approximation, but works well in most cases that do not involve extremely large masses or velocities approaching the speed of light.
Name one thing that turns your stomach:
Nausea
Do you consider yourself bi-polar?
Um, negative. I am a meat popsicle
Are most of the friends in your life new or old?
Ah, the illusion of friendship.
How would you define existentialism?
A man says to the universe, "Doesn't anybody fucking knock anymore?"
"Undoubtedly so," replies the universe,
"But that doesn't mean you can ignore the overwhelming odds he may not."
What's the story behind your myspace name?
"Dave looks like a beached sea god. He's coping with the situation but, like Lord Poseidon denied access to the sea, does not look happy."
What's the story behind your myspace quote?
A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
-- Stephen Crane
It is remarkably straightforward for Crane - indeed, it seems almost Biercelike in its attitude and expression. There are no deep Zenlike moments of revelation hidden beneath a deceptively void surface, no mind-twisting experiments in cognitive dissonance, just a dryly ironic commentary on some people's[1] attitudes towards the higher powers. And indeed, when you think about it, a number of religious practices *can* be viewed as announcing to the universe (or the deity of your choice) "Sir, I exist!", and then sitting back in complacent expectation. (A more prescriptive analogue of this observation can be found in the saying "Heaven helps those who help themselves"[2], though it could be argued that Crane doesn't imply any help even for those people who *do* do more than proclaim their existence).
And tangentially, I am reminded of one of my favorite absurdist science-fictional religions, Greg Egan's "Church of the God who Makes No Difference". I believe Vonnegut had something similar too, though I can't remember the details of that one.
[1] ironic poems are, of course, always about someone else :)
[2] which can, if nothing else, be used to justify a second serving of dessert
How do you feel about capitalism, socialism, and communism?
They could be fascist anarchists. It still doesn't change the fact that I don't own a car. Not that I condone fascism, or any -ism for that matter. -Ism's in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon, "I don't believe in The Beatles, I just believe in me." Good point there. After all, he was the walrus. I could be the walrus. I'd still have to bum rides off people.
Do you think that tattoos and piercings are overrated?
Tattoos and piercings are just stupid. So it’s a good assumption that at one point in his or her life the person sporting one, was a profoundly stupid person. You can’t spend the time to give everyone a fair shot; life is short and innocuous prejudice saves us all precious time. Also, the same people who claim that people prejudge them for their "body art" will just as quickly pick out someone dressed like a dork and in their minds that person exists as "dork." So why would they begrudge that dork the same right to make snap judgments? Body modification is just a trite attempt at autonomy. And tattoos might as well be a brand on cattle. So yeah... overrated is an understatement.
What sucks?
Hot Topic
MTV
Cottage cheese
Insects
Alcoholics
"just be(ing) friends"
Paper cuts
Technology
Hypocrisy
Melodrama
Wannabes
Running out of toilet paper
Corporate America
Scientology
Tom Cruise
Nasal congestion
Hollywood
Boy bands (ie; My Constipated Romance or Green Day, etc)
Doom
Dread
Being broke
Fake boobs
Spam
Depression
Repression
Growing apart from your friends
Beggars
Sunburn
Religious Cults (Mormons)
When a vending machine rejects your dollar
Coitus Interruptus
Seafood
Fingernails on a chalkboard
Ebonics
Forgetting your deodorant
Slow downloads
Accidentally setting your alarm for P.M. instead of A.M.
Mondays
Perky people
Phony People
Cold Girls
Attention Whores
Tools
People who stare
Headaches
Stale potato chips
Unwanted romantic advances
Rodeos
Ringling B&B Bros Circus
Denial
Tattoos
Body Modification
When you have to explain a joke
Junk mail
Junk e-mail
Grungy buildup at the mouth of a ketchup bottle
Vampires
Leeches
The Public Library (youth department)
Unrequited Love
Sour milk
Homophobia
The FDA
Women who complain that they're fat, when they really aren't
Women who think that they’re skinny, when they really aren’t
Female Logic
The female species
Learning Calculus
Car alarms
The Energizer bunny
People who put “quotations” around everything
Silent letters (gnat, pneumonia)
Pretentious middle initials
No more Far Side cartoons
Movies based on Saturday Night Live characters
Settling for less
Allergies
Morning Breath
SnoopDoggieDoggieDizzle
Gum stuck to your shoe
Satan
Boredom
Wal-Mart
People with 13 items in the "10 items or less" line
Cellphones
People who talk during a movie (exceptions: mst3k, filmcrew, and rifftraxx)
Cold toilet seats
Sanitary napkin / tampon commercials
Spaghetti splatter on a white shirt
Hairs in your shirt after a haircut
Flat, warm soda
Negative attitudes
People who don't agree with me
Knock-knock jokes
"404, not found"
"Sorry! an unexpected error has occurred."
People who don't write back
When you get together with friends, but can't decide what to do
When cool TV shows get cancelled (Arrested Development)
Thinking of a great comeback after an argument is over
Close-mindedness
Herpes
E-Mail chain letters/Fwds
Disobedient cats
Materialism and excess
That tingly feeling when your foot falls asleep
Saturday Night Live
Canker sores
Blisters
Bad Hair Days
Holes in socks
Job interviews
Nausea
Censorship
Youtube taking videos down
Potheads
Pennies
Humidity
Insomnia
Pens with no ink
Babies in movie theatres
Mind games
Splinters
Radio D.J.s
Barney the dinosaur
Parties where you don't know anyone
Telemarketers
Radio commercials
Hacks
Going Bald
Vacuums
Lacking sarcastic intelligence
Double Standards
Morning people
Country & Western Music
Long lists
and pretty much all trivial universal vexations and then some, plus everything on the planet, everything in the solar system, everything that exists, past, present, and future, in all discovered and undiscovered dimensions. And your mom.
What's at the center of the earth?
It's really hot down there and lonely. There are some dinosaurs and giant spiders, the mole people live across the huge inner sea, some morlocks a few miles away, and some cave men a bit farther, but none of them are very sociable. Some times Tarzan comes down to fight the giant ants and the lost Greco-Roman-Atlantians, but all he ever says is, "Ungawa." No wait! That's what it's like in the center of my brain.
There is no center... The earth is a dinner plate supported on the back of a cosmic tortoise. What is the tortoise standing on? Well, sonny, it's turtles all the way down.
Do you like the writing of Douglas Adams?
. . . imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, 'This is an interesting world I find myself in, an interesting hole I find myself in, fits me rather neatly, doesn't it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!' This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up and as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, it's still frantically hanging on to the notion that everything's going to be alright, because this world was meant to have him in it, was built to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather by surprise. I think this may be something we need to be on the watch out for.
What is the difference between madness and brilliance?
Brilliance and Wisdom do not always live together
Although they might seem like birds of a feather
Brilliance and Madness walk blithely two by two
But Wisdom all Madness doth wisely eschew...
How many oxymorons can you think of?
Just one. "Female Logic"
What are you made of?
Water, 35 liters. Carbon, 20 kilograms. Ammonia, 4 liters. Lime, 1.5 kilograms. Phosphorous, 800 grams. Salt, 250 grams. Saltpeter, 100 grams. Sulfur, 80 grams. Fluorine, 7.5, iron, 5, silicon, 3 grams, and trace amounts of 15 other elements.
What character do you identify the most with from Winnie the Pooh?
Pooh! Even though you are sometimes stumped by your problems, you always figure them out. Ever generous and always creative, you couldn't survive without your friends... Silly old bear!
If you were in the Breakfast Club, which character would you be?
Carl, the school janitor. I am the eyes and ears of this institution.
Use a simile to describe yourself.
As likely as not
What is your place in the universe?
I find my position as an articulate mammal, bewildering and awesome, would to God I were a tender apple blossom.
Name one person off the top of your head who made a major contribution to science.
Bill Nye
What is one movie character you identify with and why?
The Dude. (Big Lebowski)
For me, the Dude has a certain type of wisdom. I like to call it the "Wisdom of Fingernails": the wisdom that gives you the ability to make your hair and fingernails grow, your heart beat, your bowels move. These are things that we know how to do, but we don't necessarily know how we know how to do them, yet still we do them very well. And that to me is very Dude. It's not like he's a know-it-all, the Dude. He's not a guy who has figured out the way to be or anything like that, but he is comfortable with what he's got. The Dude abides. I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there, the Dude, takin' her easy for all us sinners.
How do you search for the meaning of life?
Multiply six by nine.
What is more important, tact or honesty?
Honesty is like other sacrosanct words like "love", "unselfish", and "caring" that have the ability to put people’s forebrains to sleep. The mere utterance of the word has the ability to rationalize many behaviors that would otherwise not stand up to close scrutiny. We don’t let our unconscious lead us to impulsive action while we rationalize it as being honest. Tact means you have to think about how you’re doing something and the consequences that might ensue. Is it really safe for you to "let it all hang out" or is this a situation where privacy can protect? Will the benefit from the other’s knowledge outweigh the pain that it will bring? I lack tact more often than not. Doesnt make me any less genuine. But justification aside... without assholes there would be no South Park or Family Guy or Adam Sandler movies or comedy in general. So dont fucking forget it, and cut us a break you tact hungry cry babies.
What is your favorite Greek myth?
Philoctetes, who possessed a bow that never misses its target, is bitten by a snake as he approaches a shrine to which the Greeks intend to make a sacrifice, with no connection between the two implied. The play probably speaks so forcefully to me because it is about betrayal, and the pressure to make third parties complicit in someone's betrayal: themes that recur repeatedly in my own "fiction", whether I invite them to or not. And that is probably why Philoctetes is my favorite "myth".
What does the T in T-shirt stand for?
"The Fuck Up". Which is what I want you to shut.
What is surrealism?
Psychic automatism in its pure state, by which one proposes to express -- verbally, by means of the written word, or in any other manner -- the actual functioning of thought. Dictated by the thought, in the absence of any control exercised by reason, exempt from any aesthetic or moral concern.
In this realm as in any other, I believe in the pure Surrealist joy of the man who, forewarned that all others before him have failed, refuses to admit defeat, sets off from whatever point he chooses, along any other path save a reasonable one, and arrives wherever he can.
What overwhelms you?
This question! I mean I am so overloaded with commitments and activities, and demands on my time and energy and very little time to accomplish these things and this question just pushed me over the edge, man. FUCK! Just leave me alone for a second alright?!
Do you feel superior to anyone?
Sometimes. But its all situational perception. And its never constant.
Who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character and why?
Gandalf. Wise, sarcastic, subtle, quick to anger, and a total bad ass.
What do you buy at the Movies?
2 hours of disappointment
Good advice if you ever go camping?
A towel is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta…wet it for use in hand-to-hand combat…wrap it around your head to ward off noxious fumes…any man who can hitch the length and breath of the Galaxy, rough it … win through, and still know where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.
What’s the fastest you have gone in a car?
88 miles per hour.... and I saw some serious shit.
What if this is as good as it gets?
Then I would get off the Hedonic Treadmill.
What do you battle against?
The ontological necessity of modern man's existential dilemma.
Why does the cheese stand alone?
Because rats won't come to a baited trap unless you leave it alone.
Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or Endothermic (absorbs heat)?
Well first, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate that souls are moving into Hell and the rate they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave.
Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let us look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there are more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially.
Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand as souls are added. This gives two possibilities:
1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2. Of course, if Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.
So which is it? If we accept the postulate given to me by Robyn Randal, during my Junior year of High School, "...that it will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you.", and take into account the fact that I still have not succeeded in having sexual relations with her, then, #2 cannot be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and will not freeze.
Are you made of timid stuff?
I'm no scientist but I'm pretty sure that carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus, sulphur, magnesium, calcium and iron are incapable of being described as timid, under any circumstances, unless they personify all those chemicals into a Disney cartoon. But if I had to pick one of them to be timid, it would be nitrogen... I'm sure being colorless, odorless, and tasteless can eventually take its toll on your self-confidence. Invisible to the world, despite being its main ingredient.
What word becomes shorter when you add two letters to it?
Macroverbumsciolist
Why are blondes considered 'dumb'?
Because in ancient Greek and Roman days, blonde hair was often associated with commoners, who were ostensibly deemed less intelligent. Which is an unfair assumption since all women are equally dumb.
Do you know what you can do to make this world a better place?
Yes. Nothing. The world has survived billions of years without my existence, so I think its pretty safe to assume that it can go another 30 plus years till I'm gone, not contributing anything to it. I have no delusions that my actions, blogs, or music can save us all. Live and let live.
If I were hungry, you would not give me sympathy. Sympathy would not nourish me. Instead, you would give me food. But in the long run, I must learn to feed myself.
If I were naked, you would not give me sympathy. Sympathy would not clothe me. Instead, you would give me clothes. But in the long run, I must learn to clothe myself.
If I were bleeding, you would not give me sympathy. Sympathy would not heal my wounds. Instead, you would clean and dress my wounds, and summon medical assistance if necessary. But in the long run, I must learn to avoid injury when possible, and to clean and dress my own wounds. I must also learn when to summon medical assistance on my own, if I am physically able.
Of course, if I were naked, you'd take advantage of me. I'd expect nothing less, and I'll take my own precautions. But sympathy has no place, here, or elsewhere.
Do you try to avoid anything involving work?
The Greeks believed that a person's prudence, morality, and wisdom was directly proportional to the amount of leisure time that person had. Proponents of slacker theory assert that managing to survive by doing things at the last possible moment improves intellect as a compensatory way to cope, fashioning a wily yet lazy person. Similarly, a disorganized lifestyle may be superior to an organized one from the pragmatic perspective that a slacker will adapt to disorderliness by improving skills at memorization and at effortlessly rummaging, whereas actively organizing would require serious effort. Hence, the epithet slacker, while often used in the pejorative, is growingly signifying a complimentary, cerebral quality of an unconventional person.
Every mode of life has its conveniences. The Idler, who habituates himself to be satisfied with what he can most easily obtain, not only escapes labors which are often fruitless, but sometimes succeeds better than those who despise all that is within their reach, and think every thing more valuable as it is harder to be acquired. If we will have the kindness of others, we must endure their follies. He who cannot persuade himself to withdraw from society, must be content to pay a tribute of his time to a multitude of tyrants; to the loiterer, who makes appointments which he never keeps; to the consulter, who asks advice which he never takes; to the boaster, who blusters only to be praised; to the complainer, who whines only to be pitied; to the projector, whose happiness is to entertain his friends with expectations which all but himself know to be vain; to the economist, who tells of bargains and settlements; to the politician, who predicts the fate of battles and breach of alliances; to the usurer, who compares the different funds; and to the talker, who talks only because he loves to be talking.
Sober is a man of strong desires and quick imagination, so exactly balanced by the love of ease, that they can seldom stimulate him to any difficult undertaking; they have, however, so much power, that they will not suffer him to lie quite at rest; and though they do not make him sufficiently useful to others, they make him at least weary of himself.
Would a woman rather be complimented about her intelligence OR her looks?
This is a trick question... women don't have intelligence.
What makes life a bittersweet symphony?
Bittersweet is nothing but window-dressing; it's prettying up your pain instead of feeling it. Real bitterness has an equal component of rage. Bittersweet is for chocolate. It's goddamn candy; it's goddamn pretense of pain. You want to know what bitterness is? Go listen to Shostakovich. Try the 8th symphony, in which he batters you with violence and anguish for 45 minutes, then lets you feel a glimmer of hope, and finally crushes that hope with a tank! "Bittersweet Symphony". Sadness without the calories. I hope it comes in a pretty, pink cellophane wrapper.
What is the bane of your existence?
Yay! My favorite question of this whole survey…
Doobie Doofus
Let's get serious about pot! Oops, too late. But hey, if you enjoy a little indulgin' in the ol' "Mary Jane" now and then, why not crank it up a bit and turn it into a loud, clownish, and annoying way of life? Not only will you be learning more about rope and tunics than you ever thought possible, but you'll also be freaking out The Man. Now if only The Man could ever look at you without giggling and shaking his head. What's worse, this specimen - invariably going by some idiotic, ridiculously cliché old hippy handle like Captain Wizard - always seems to be elected spokesman for the local hemp activists, leading one to assume that this guy's practically conservative or lucid compared to the rest of them. Or maybe this is their vision of Utopia - who knows? Who cares? Got any Wheat Thins? But, hey - way to dispel those preconceived notions, Cap'n - thanks for all your hard work! Never mind the fact that the bud he's huffing is about fifty times stronger than that of his groovy forefathers, but maybe he could take a cue from them and the countless casual tokers before him and just shut the fuck up and smoke it.
Neo Redneck Chic
A little bit Kid Rock, a little bit big-house "new fish" and a whole lotta' over-stimulated suburban rube, the Neo Redneck suspects he might be making a statement, but can't quite summon up the mental energy to figure out what it is. It's less a statement really than a nacho-infused grunt. With brow furrowed and expression set to "rodential," the specimen seems to be attempting to convey some sense of hard, hairy manliness and gruff my-way-or-the-highway forthrightness, despite resembling an underfed, ageing boy-band member. His only strength may lie in numbers as he is somewhat of a pack animal, but for the most part he will always look slightly overwhelmed and angrily confused, ready to lash out at the myriad things he does not and cannot understand. However, like a degenerating chain of photocopied photocopies, he does not exude the authenticity, the genuine chaos of the true-blue jerky-jawin', shirt-sheddin' trailer trash punk - extremely difficult to pull off when you live with your parents in Stripmallville, cozily nestled down with your video games and Spiderman bedsheets.
Freewheelin' Free-Range Playboy
A sub-species of the classic 70's "Sensitive Feeling Man" (see Alan Alda, Phil Donahue, Gavin McLeod, etc.), the Free-Range Playboy is primarily a West Coast creature, often found sprinkled about the adorable islands and cozy cove towns of the Pacific Northwest. Occupying a unique place in the male spectrum, he is like a strange hybrid composed of equal parts Tom Jones and Doug Henning; at once a walking vintage cologne ad, but also a bowl of crunchy granola. Years of practice have honed the specimen's passive/aggressive lady-killing ways, having perfected a line of devious patter that also comprises a lot of actorly listening - which also provides a virtual photo-op for some casual-sexy posing and dreamy, half-lidded staring. No one is really sure what the Free-Range Playboy does, but chances are he owns a kiln and has somehow managed to make gobs of money out of some quaint hobby like soap-making or cheese-sculpting. You'll find him at the local gastro-pub, usually near the fire (good lighting), staring seductively into the eyes of a special lady, all the while patiently waiting to spring his secret weapon - because the Playboy never, ever lives in anything as mundane as a house house - that just wouldn't be sexy enough. A houseboat or treehouse or a hillside Hobbit cave is where he's at, and the ladies don't stand a chance; "Oh? I didn't mention that I live in a treehouse? Yes, I built it myself - it's all found wood... Come on inside and I'll show you my kiln..."
The Mid-Afternoon Rambler
It's the thin edge of the wedge in the nearly interesting evolution of the sensitive "singer-songwriter" species, and quite possibly the death of the manly beard as well. Hey, life is a state of mind, not a fashion statement, man. But I say that the big scarf alone exposes the dirty lie in these laid-back protestations of "casual" or slackerish shrugs of "who cares?" As wimpy warblers like James Blunt and John Mayer pollute our aural periphery, one cannot ignore these freshly sprouting numbers of earnest white guys with complicated feelings and their rambling hairdos. But did they ever really go away? Are there new generations timed to hatch at regular intervals throughout history, the genetic strands weakening with every sneaker-shod step away from Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan? It is more likely that in typical post-modern fashion, the troublesome troubadour has simply chucked a few fistfuls of hand-picked history into the ol' Mixmaster to see what pours out. The unsavory results of this lumpy concoction usually taste a lot like: " I'm kinda' going for a Van Morrison meets Jeff Buckley meets the Banana Splits type thing, ya' know...?"
Yeah, unfortunately I do.
A Prickly Paradox
They'll do everything in their limited power and imagination to draw attention to themselves and then loudly rebel against the attention. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy without the fulfilling. Once a bit of a Riot-Grrl, now perhaps a Suicide Girl or a DIY Extreme Stitchin' Bitch, the specimen diminishes in relevance with every overlapping generation while the rugged self-belief in originality flourishes unchecked. It's a vicious circle - and it's freakin' out the squares! Despite the fact that the squares were wearing Converse high-tops in 1980 and had to find each other without the aid of computers - through friends, in record stores, at concerts, and of course, at the Salvation Army where everyone spent a lot of time buying their Converse high-tops. Look out - she's rough, she's tough, she's opinionated, and she's probably subsidized by Mom and Dad. Can you find it in your heart to deal with it?
Nutless Trendoid (Summer Mode)
Yes, it appears that this specimen left his balls somewhere in the store where he bought the capris pants, probably sitting somewhere right next to his dignity. Maybe he's just trying to put the sizzle back into summer; but the question is - which summer? He seems to think it's the summer of 2038, smugly adopting the bold attitude of an asexual Captain Kirk ordering Sulu to hit Warp Factor Nine - and be futuristic about it! In his world everything old is still old and always will be old and old is not new, so therefore it sucks. Now is where it's at, but now is so last week. The Nutless Trendoid joins a swelling legion of summer mode dress-alike cousins, from the Clamdiggin' Tan-Man to the Camo-Capris Redneck, the unmistakable pavement-smacking symphony of their flip-flops building to a crescendo as they are all pulled by primitive impulses to the nearest beach to show off their shins. It's the banal frontier.
Li'l Sausage Boy
His parents were those quasi-hippy, would-be liberals who never quite got the hang of being all "free-thinking" and groovy, and any values along those lines that might have slipped through the filters were certainly not passed on to this specimen. Indulged and over-protected, the Li'L Sausage Boy grew up to take his soft life for granted, although in many ways he did not grow up at all. He is part of an expanding army of boy-men who in fact are no longer required to grow up; they can dress like Charlie Brown, play video games into old age, and forever insist that comic books are graphic novels. Not quite fat fat, the Sausage Boy is however somewhat cylindrical in shape, and with his baggy attire often resembles a laundry pile on legs. His close cousin, the Li'l Sausage Rocker is also a thriving species, usually observed all over MTV sporting long black shorts, a baseball cap, and "sleeves" of rebellious "tats" - all while breathing through his mouth and saying the word "awesome" twelve thousand times a day.
Rebel Schmebel
Kin to the Squeegee Kid, this specimen may or may not be homeless, but certainly digs the hardcore punk-rockiness of the downtown sidewalks. Somehow believing that a circa 1978 fashion sense still freaks out the squares, Rebel Scmebel invites the gawking - begs for the gawking - but simultaneously expresses his disdain for the attention. Ah, youth. There always seems to be the patina of relative freshness to these types; the time-consuming fashion concerns would appear to diminish in direct proportion to the downward spiral. Sid Vicious wasn't exactly a genius either.
Smuggy-Wuggy
Yeah, I'm sure it's hard work, I'm sure it's fulfilling, but guess what? Some of us just don't care. Perhaps this fact is just as inconceivable to the smuggy-wuggy mommy as their simpering celebration of the painful minutiae of babyhood is to me, but don't expect me to play along. What happens exactly to the afflicted subject after Life's Special Miracle is really anyone's guess - but suddenly eyes become slightly unfocused, shoulders scrunch up, lips purse into a Chuck Jones grin, and snot, piss, and puke suddenly become cute and fodder for conversation. And of course there are buckets of loot to be made off of the smuggy-wuggies, helping to breed a culture of yuppified toddler-toadying that includes baby boutiques with high-priced designer babywear, parenting manuals, new-age toys, and anything else that reinforces the mommy-as-centre-of-the-universe mindset. Meanwhile dad sits quietly with his chai latte wistfully ogling his balls that now adorn the mantle over the fireplace.
Today's Special: Hep C
"May I recommend the hepatitis? It comes in a rich, creamy herpes sauce with lightly grilled cooties on the side."
This specimen used to be a Denny’s staple - maybe he still is, but I often see him or his equally squalid female counterpart from time to time in many other places. They're the ones not taking your order and gabbing with the occupants of the "cool booth" about last night's crazy party/gig/drug overdose. There's also a neo-hippy version that can be spotted in most vegetarian restaurants where lousy service seems to be mandatory - and there's nothing like the stink of patchouli to get the taste buds dancing! The truly classic specimens are known for their inability to write orders down despite the fact that they never, ever get it right; they can't even remember that they can't remember. And of course at some stage in your dining experience you will be completely abandoned, leaving you in a baffling, interminable limbo while hangover boy goes for a smoke or passes out by the dumpsters out back.
Dig the New Breed
Post-punk? Post-modern? Post-post-modern-post-punk? Who knows? Certainly not him. Cast adrift in the oily wake of at least a dozen musical movements and twice as many fashion trends, he's not sure if "alternative" is still relevant, or if "rawk" is even a real word. Last seen sporting late '90's gas-attendant-chic, he's moved on to trendier pastures, but still studiously lapping at the pop culture salt-lick of co-opted crap. He thinks he's young and original, despite his vague suspicions that he and his breed have been beaten to the punch by just about everyone, including the corporations and media that have already neatly pre-packaged his lifestyle and sold it back to him, guaranteeing his "originality" a shelf-life just slightly longer than his Spin subscription.
Life's Rich Pageant
She's sweet, she's sassy - she's swassy! Dripping with inexplicable attitude, this spectacular specimen can be found trolling the fashionable mega-stores and corporate storefront money-vacuums with a delightful disdain for her less fashionable inferiors - namely everyone. Usually observed in pairs or mini-packs, our accessory-laden subject offers a study in contrasts; despite her perky attire, her demeanor suggests that of ordeal and over-stimulation. Could it be that she aspires to the very same high-maintenance lifestyle of the trash-magazine celebrities she emulates so enthusiastically? Or are her and her army of lookalikes simply spoiled empty-headed twits with dangerously indulgent parents? You be the judge.
Tell us about yourself in the third person for a bit:
The most noticeable of Dave’s “peculiarities” is how extremely judgmental he is of almost everything and everybody. He criticizes and philosophizes about people who are boring, people who are insecure, and, above all, people who are “phony.” Dave carries this penchant for passing judgment to such an extreme that it often becomes extremely funny. Dave applies the term “phony” not to people who are insincere but to those who are too conventional or too typical—for instance, teachers who “act like” teachers by assuming a different demeanor in class than they do in conversation or people who dress and act like the other members of their social class. While Dave uses the label “phony” to imply that such people are superficial, his use of the term actually indicates that his own perceptions of other people are superficial. In almost every case, he rejects more complex judgments in favor of simple categorical ones.
Are you more like Brak, Zorak, or Space Ghost and why?
I am the Lone Locust of the Apocalypse! Think of me when you look to the night sky!
Do you live with passion?
Thats palpable absurdity.
What's your favorite Star Wars movie?
I grew up not really a Star Wars fan, but a Return of the Jedi fan. Born in '80, it was the only movie of the trilogy I actually saw in theaters. Between crying out of fright over Jabba or pretending I could shoot lightning out of my hands like the Emperor if I tried hard enough, it wasn't until a year later that I saw Star Wars on video, and then The Empire Strikes Back, which at the time was way over my head. Now I can clearly recognize the second film as the best, and can see why so many people were kinda pissed off when ROTJ came out. This was the kiddie movie. Fortunately, at the time, I was a kid. Growing up that way, I never developed the hatred of Ewoks and the last film in general that a lot of fans seem to have. I mean you could've probably done more with an Ewok Village than you could with any other toy that's ever existed or will ever exist. The possibilities were endless!
Of course, compared to the new flicks, Return of the Jedi looks like a fucking masterpiece. And even if it's nowhere near as smart, sophisticated, or just plain good as it's predecessor, it'll always be my favorite Star Wars movie. That's partly because I adored the green lightsaber, partly because Leia got half-naked, but mostly because every last one of my best childhood memories root back to the marketing blitz that came when the finale hit theaters. Come to think of it, Vader didn't do much of anything in the last movie. Seemed like the guy got so bored he tried amusing himself by fitting the word 'master' or 'son' into every sentence he spoke. After two movies of Vader kicking the unholy ass of everyone who annoyed him, he was just a big ol' softy in the finale. I'm surprised candy didn't fall out of his forearm when Luke chopped his hand off. Just when you thought they couldn't kill his mystique any further, they take his mask off, and who's underneath? Something from the Halloween edition of The Eggers comic strip. And then Luke burns his body while everyone else watches a fireworks show. 1983 wasn't kind to the Sith.
Anyway It's not about the Speeder Bike toy being cool. It's about the Speeder Bike toy reminding me about how I used to spend the afternoons on the side of our house, by a pile of tan rocks, ramming it over and over again into that big cylindrical air conditioner thingamajig while collecting ladybugs and neat red leaves.
Who is your favorite Star Wars character?
Obi-Wan Kenobi
What is 'nothing'?
Apparently the only thing I am good for.
In what ways are you a rebel?
In what ways are you a conformist?
People who bathe themselves so vigorously in other peoples' ideas eventually wake up to find themselves naked in a lukewarm tub of rhetoric and half baked theories. They rebel against the rebellion that they once found so chic. They cut their hair, they join the Army, they buy an Armani suit and a BMW and the trade stock on Wall Street and get married and have 2.5 children and a dog and a two story in suburbia and no one ever hears from them again. I know this. I've seen this. Everyone changes their minds, that's just a natural part of being human. When I was four I used to believe in Santa Clause. When I was thirteen I thought Anarchy was a cool idea. Now that I'm twenty-seven I think that spending all my time reading graphic novels and playing Uno with my girlfriend is a perfectly viable pastime.
What is your greatest weakness as a friend?
Dear Inner Emotions,
Please don’t ever let my sense of feeling guilty ever wither. I never want to be freed of taking guilt trips for this is how I know I’m still human.
worriedly,
Your Conscious
Do you sometimes enjoy being mean?
SCHADENFREUDE
Has learning to spell become obsolete?
My spelling is terrible I know. Your heroic ability to push through the thick of my illiteracy to reach the meaning behind my composition is commendable.
Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
Bacteria
Who's the sexiest Ghostbuster?
Janine Melnitz
Is rain on your wedding day a good example of irony?
Pretty much everything is ironic these days. Irony is used as a synonym for cool, for cynicism, for detachment, for intelligence; it's cited as the end of civilization, as well as its salvation. Pretty much every form of culture claims to be shot through with it, even (especially) the ones that conspicuously aren't. We have a grave problem with this word (well, in fact, it's not really grave - but I'm not being ironic when I call it that, I'm being hyperbolic. Though often the two amount to the same thing. But not always). Just looking at the definitions, the confusion is understandable - in the first instance, rhetorical irony expands to cover any disjunction at all between language and meaning, with a couple of key exceptions (allegory also entails a disconnection between sign and meaning, but obviously isn't synonymous with irony; and lying, clearly, leaves that gap, but relies for its efficacy on an ignorant audience, where irony relies on a knowing one). Still, even with the riders, it's quite an umbrella, no?
In the second instance, situational irony (also known as cosmic irony) occurs when it seems that "God or fate is manipulating events so as to inspire false hopes, which are inevitably dashed". While this looks like the more straightforward usage, it opens the door to confusion between irony, bad luck and inconvenience. There are four important epochs of irony (unless you count Hegel, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, but to do that, I would need to have read them).
PHASE ONE: Socratic irony is simply part of a canon of rhetorical tools devised to distract people from the fact that they've been sitting still listening to hard talk for an awfully long time. The technique, demonstrated in the Platonic dialogues, was to pretend ignorance and, more sneakily, to feign credence in your opponent's power of thought, in order to tie him in knots. This is amazingly prevalent in contemporary social intercourse - every one of us, I'd guess, has a friend who engages in an argument, waits patiently until you've said something really trenchant and probably wrong, then cocks his (or her) head to one side and says, "Do you think that's true?" thereafter pursuing each one of your most ridiculous points and challenging them from a perspective of utter (pretended) ignorance. Weirdly, this is never called irony, even though every other fucking thing that anyone ever says is.
PHASE TWO: Romantic irony was framed by Schlegel the German philosopher. Here, it became a much more complex philosophical tool, of which the nuts and bolts were that you simultaneously occupied two opposite positions (what you say versus what is real). There were problems with this as a direct path to truth later on, but I'd need a more Socratic grasp of how not to be boring before I could go into them. The point with Schlegel was that irony would give you a divided self, which in turn gives you a multiplicity of perspectives, which is the only way you will unlock the truth of the whole. This romantic (or "philosophical") irony has had a great influence on most of yesterday's songwriters.
PHASE THREE: Irony as a tool of dissent, a grim but failsafe gag and mainstay of popular culture, took hold during the First World War. The gross disjunction between patriotic rhetoric and the reality of the war itself led to a widespread use of irony as a means of puncturing deceitful propaganda. At this point, irony was still purporting to be an overview - to be wading through the mulch of accepted wisdom and exposing its fraudulence. Where irony springs up as a response to being lied to (by authority, or prevailing culture, or whatever); it states the lie in order to expose the lie, and is therefore a route to truth. It has some moral import. It may say "This belief is wrong", but it doesn't say "All belief is wrong". When people call ours the Age of Irony, that is not the kind of irony they are on about.
PHASE FOUR: Our age has not so much redefined irony, as focused on just one of its aspects. Irony has been manipulated to echo postmodernism. The postmodern, in art, architecture, literature, film, all that, is exclusively self-referential - its core implication is that art is used up, so it constantly recycles and quotes itself. Its entirely self-conscious stance precludes sincerity, sentiment, emoting of any kind, and thus has to rule out the existence of ultimate truth or moral certainty. Irony, in this context, is not there to lance a boil of duplicity, but rather to undermine sincerity altogether, to beggar the mere possibility of a meaningful moral position. In this sense it is, indeed, indivisible from cynicism. This isn't to say that "truth-seeking" irony has evaporated - many creative forms still use irony to highlight the sheer, grinding horror of pursuits or points of view that are considered "normal" (like The Office, for instance). But other strands of media use irony to assert their right to have no position whatsoever. So, you take a cover of FHM, with tits on the front - and it's ironic because it appears to be saying "women are objects", yet of course it isn't saying that, because we're in a postfeminist age. But nor is it saying "women aren't objects", because that would be dated, over-sincere, mawkish even. So, it's effectively saying "women are neither objects, nor non-objects - and here are some tits!" Scary Movie 2, Dumb And Dumberer, posh women who go to pole-dancing classes, Charlie's Angels (the film, not the TV series) and about a million other things besides, are all using this ludic trope - "I'm not saying what you think I'm saying, but I'm not saying its opposite, either. In fact, I'm not saying anything at all. But I get to keep the tits." So, we're not the first age to use irony (as some insist), but we are the first to use it in this vacuous, agenda-free and often highly amusing way.
This has almost exclusively been about rhetorical irony, which has much more fluidity and variety than situational irony. That does not mean that situational irony is entirely straightforward - often, the appearance that God or Fate was attempting to make you think one thing when another was going to happen is down to your own misreading or willful blindness, and therefore isn't ironic at all. Furthermore, where rhetorical irony can be as simple as saying the opposite of what you mean, cosmic irony is not simply experiencing the opposite of what you thought was going to happen. For instance, if I was having a party, and I thought Butters was going to come, and he didn't, that wouldn't be ironic. If, on the other hand, I was having a party and I didn't want Buttkiss to come, and I spent three weeks working on a brilliant cover story for why he couldn't come, and then Faux accidentally blew my cover, so I had to invite him anyway, and then, on the way here, he got run over and died - that's ironic! I hope he realizes that that example was, well, not ironic, but certainly meant with no ill will. But, whatever (here, with ludic irony, I'm trying to get out of writing a conclusion by affecting the jargon of the slothful teenager. Obviously, I don't mean "whatever" - I don't share the disaffected carelessness of the standard "whatever" user. But I'm still getting out of writing a conclusion. To know inauthenticity isn't the same as being authentic. Or even, just because you ironically know you're wrong doesn't make you right).
Name something that there is no wrong way to do:
Eat a Resesses
Does the perfect woman exist?
Yeah, with the right medication.
What question do you never want someone to ask you?
"What do you think of hot pink hoop earrings?"
What do you think of hot pink hoop earrings?
God damnit!
What challenges you?
Things that irritate me
What irritates you?
Things that bore me
What bores you?
Things that challenge me
A word to the wise:
The Attention Whore makes herself obvious to you by trying to control and manipulate. For example, she comes on strong to get your attention; she flirts, she drops hints, she tries to make you feel that she’s over-eager to be with you, and when you respond, she immediately pulls away. She's very, very good at making you feel like she's interested in you and will let you spend your time and money on her, but as soon as you start wanting something more, she'll act like you're out of your mind - she didn't do anything to lead you on!
Emergency precautions? The most important is to make sure that every bit of attention, time, or anything else you spend on her is always weighed against what she's done for you first. When uninformed men encounter the Attention Whore, they usually play right into her attention grabbing antics. They start giving her exactly what she wants – their attention. Of course, this woman is a master at trying to extract the maximum value from men that she can.
As she starts to pull away, these guys stupidly make the mistake of escalating their attention - even to the point of giving gifts, taking her on trips, taking her out to plays and concerts, etc., all in an attempt to impress her and buy their way into her
Turning the tables on one of these is simply a matter of accounting. Watch your ledger very closely. For everything you do for her, there should be a commensurate return. Consider this: if you were in a relationship with a "nice girl", wouldn't she try to make you feel loved and special just like you do her? Of course! Especially when two people meet that are interested in each other, both go out of their way to make the other one feel special. They use all of the tools at their disposal. They are especially concerned about returning the love, attention, and consideration they receive.
The attention whore consumes without producing anything. She knows her victim usually has low self-esteem and makes the most of it. So, what’s the bottom line? Simple: avoid the attention whore – she only exists because men allow her to!
It was previously conceived that the Attention Whore fit into a specific criterion. But this is not so. Any girl is capable of this behavior. From the high school tramp all the way down to the mousy little band geek. In the immortal words of Ronnie James Dio, "LOOK OUT!"
What is your current status?
Quo
What type of music do you dislike the most?
Country is for cunts.
How do you feel about Jeremy Jaynes, who got a nine year prison sentence for spamming people with junk email?
JUSTICE!
If you had to look into a mirror and see your naked soul stripped of all delusions and pretenses (like the third gate in The Neverending Story) could you handle it?
(Um actually... not to sound like a nerd or anything... the third gate is the oracle itself.... not the magic mirror)
Anywho, that scene in The Neverending Story where Atreyu winds up in front of the magic mirror, fearful of what he might see within his reflection has always scared me tremendously. Ever since I was a young child, I feared that if I were to step up and do the same thing, what I would see in the mirror image would be absolutely horrifying.
I am afraid of who I am. There are so many negative aspects to my personality that I often feel like a selfish and bratty monster. It’s not like that all of the time. But whenever I mull over the events of my life, I can’t help but feel a resounding sense of regret for a great many things that I have said or done. I do seem to make friends easily. But its almost impossible to keep them. I am inherently lazy. I am brutally honest when I shouldn’t be. I have very few successes, awards or talents to my name. The debris from my life that lies all around me is covered with mounting and painful regrets. Read me Catcher in the Rye and watch me jack-off... I must be emo.
I have trouble expressing the way that I feel on the inside, the things that I imagine, the worlds that I dream, concepts that I intuitively embrace without being able to back up with proper thought and reason. Sometimes I wonder if I have some sort of “articulation dyslexia”. I can think just fine but when it comes to forming words in my mouth and sentences through my fingers, I often get it jumbled. I do like discovering different levels of understanding that can happen between myself and another person when we share with one another, however the process is often painful and not always successful. Or at least, it doesn't have an easy and definable outline of immediate achievement. I’m still learning what the proper amount of personal stuff is that I can safely share with another human being without being judged too harshly. I have times where I feel completely open to share whatever and times where I’m so tightly closed up that nothing can get through.
When I look back and review my thoughts, I find that I have a tangible measure of success for myself simply because I am paying attention to what’s going on in my head and in my life. Intuitively I know that I’m doing something right in this journey of life and letting it become a "Neverending Story" for myself. Heh.
Stop! Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see.
What… is your name?
Dave
What… is your quest?
To seek the Holy Grail
What... is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
What do you mean? An African or European swallow?
Huh? I... I don't know that…. Auuuuuuuuuugh!!!!