Monday,December 12th, 2005
Accident Aftermath Boogaloo!
Here is what happened on the drive home. Let's pretend that the letter "n" is my car.
Before accident:
n
After accident:
u
- Clothes OK
- iPod OK
- Cellphone OK
- Laptop Case OK
- DVDs inside Laptop Case OK
- Laptop Charger inside Laptop Case OK
- Portable Mouse inside Laptop Case OK
- Laptop inside Laptop Case BROKEN
- CDs OK (most of them)
- Nintendo DS BROKEN
- Sony PSP OK
- Sony Playstation 2 OK
- Desktop Computer OK
- Computer Keyboard OK
- Computer Mouse OK
- BMW 318 BROKEN
- Me OK
Before accident:
n
After accident:
u
- Clothes OK
- iPod OK
- Cellphone OK
- Laptop Case OK
- DVDs inside Laptop Case OK
- Laptop Charger inside Laptop Case OK
- Portable Mouse inside Laptop Case OK
- Laptop inside Laptop Case BROKEN
- CDs OK (most of them)
- Nintendo DS BROKEN
- Sony PSP OK
- Sony Playstation 2 OK
- Desktop Computer OK
- Computer Keyboard OK
- Computer Mouse OK
- BMW 318 BROKEN
- Me OK
Arthur Lee on 1:59 pm 0 comments
Monday,December 05th, 2005
Poker? I don't even know her.
Poker is the stupidest game ever and only fat white people play it.
First off, the game is called Texas Hold'em, and like all things Texas, it's all about holding a nice pair in your hand on the flop and then going all in on your partner until he pulls out. If that sounded incredibly homosexual, you can rest easy tonight because your hearing is fully functional, which is much unlike your brain.
The best way to play Texas Hold'em is to play Texas Fold'em, which is where you keep folding, because that's a pretty good way to guarantee you're going to lose, which is pretty good because it means you can get as far away from the table as soon as possible.
Poker is all about the chips. In Poker, chips are kind of like money. In the days of the settlers, buffalo chips were pieces of buffalo crap. In both cases, a lot value was placed on a relatively cheap substance. In the case of buffalo chips, however, the relatively cheap substance was edible. Like potato chips, except with 30% less fat, like Sun Chips brand wheat chips, which are pretty fucking tasty, and probably 30% tastier than buffalo chips, but I wouldn't know because I've never eaten buffalo shit before.
But as if Poker wasn't already dominating every aspect of everyone's lives, poker is on TV too, and whenever it's on, they call it the World Series of Poker, and that pretty much means Fat White Guys Gone Wild if by Gone Wild you really mean Sitting Around Getting Fatter, because that's pretty much all it is. They've even got commentators that comment on the hot poker action with insightful comments that keep you updated on what's going on just in case you suddenly grow blind and are unable to see that the "dealer is dealing the cards now." In that case, it would probably be hard to play poker unless you found some braille cards or get bitten by a radioactive bat and become batman (not to be confused with the get suedingly copyright infringible DC Comics superhero, Batman) and gain the ability to use echo location. And even then it'd be pretty hard to play poker, but at least you'd have echo location.
Poker, like Pokemon before it, is a stupid fad like pogs and Hitler. But we should always be wary, because someday, Poker and Pokemon might join forces like the fucking robot dinosaurs in Power Rangers and become a fucking Megazord of a fad called Pokermon.
In this Pokermon, the protagonist, Ash Ketchum would be on a quest to be the fattest, whitest guy ever. It being an anime, most of it's North American fans would be able to relate. Cosplay would be revolutized as people would just go to AnimeCon 2k6 without a costume and still be recognized as "that fat white kid from Pokermon."
Eventually, Pokermon, much like Pokemon, will be attacked by the Church (the capital C denotes the Holy Roman Catholic nature of the church), only to have its attacks refuted by the corpse of Pope John Paul II who'll claim that it teaches children to love. Except this time nobody'll be able to understand because the Pope can't talk anymore, he can only throw pigeons and doves at people, which fucking sucks because they shit all over you. Oh, and I guess it kind of sucks for the Pope too, but he's dead now so that's okay.
In conclusion, poker is a pretty shitty game. But in the end, all it is is a game, and the moment you make it into something more than it really is is the moment that it begins to become ridiculous. Seriously, professional poker players? The word professional should indicate that you possess some sort of a talent, and by talent I don't mean sitting on your ass, and looking at a couple of pieces of paper and being a fucking douchebag. Play the game, but don't let the game play you.
First off, the game is called Texas Hold'em, and like all things Texas, it's all about holding a nice pair in your hand on the flop and then going all in on your partner until he pulls out. If that sounded incredibly homosexual, you can rest easy tonight because your hearing is fully functional, which is much unlike your brain.
The best way to play Texas Hold'em is to play Texas Fold'em, which is where you keep folding, because that's a pretty good way to guarantee you're going to lose, which is pretty good because it means you can get as far away from the table as soon as possible.
Poker is all about the chips. In Poker, chips are kind of like money. In the days of the settlers, buffalo chips were pieces of buffalo crap. In both cases, a lot value was placed on a relatively cheap substance. In the case of buffalo chips, however, the relatively cheap substance was edible. Like potato chips, except with 30% less fat, like Sun Chips brand wheat chips, which are pretty fucking tasty, and probably 30% tastier than buffalo chips, but I wouldn't know because I've never eaten buffalo shit before.
But as if Poker wasn't already dominating every aspect of everyone's lives, poker is on TV too, and whenever it's on, they call it the World Series of Poker, and that pretty much means Fat White Guys Gone Wild if by Gone Wild you really mean Sitting Around Getting Fatter, because that's pretty much all it is. They've even got commentators that comment on the hot poker action with insightful comments that keep you updated on what's going on just in case you suddenly grow blind and are unable to see that the "dealer is dealing the cards now." In that case, it would probably be hard to play poker unless you found some braille cards or get bitten by a radioactive bat and become batman (not to be confused with the get suedingly copyright infringible DC Comics superhero, Batman) and gain the ability to use echo location. And even then it'd be pretty hard to play poker, but at least you'd have echo location.
Poker, like Pokemon before it, is a stupid fad like pogs and Hitler. But we should always be wary, because someday, Poker and Pokemon might join forces like the fucking robot dinosaurs in Power Rangers and become a fucking Megazord of a fad called Pokermon.
In this Pokermon, the protagonist, Ash Ketchum would be on a quest to be the fattest, whitest guy ever. It being an anime, most of it's North American fans would be able to relate. Cosplay would be revolutized as people would just go to AnimeCon 2k6 without a costume and still be recognized as "that fat white kid from Pokermon."
Eventually, Pokermon, much like Pokemon, will be attacked by the Church (the capital C denotes the Holy Roman Catholic nature of the church), only to have its attacks refuted by the corpse of Pope John Paul II who'll claim that it teaches children to love. Except this time nobody'll be able to understand because the Pope can't talk anymore, he can only throw pigeons and doves at people, which fucking sucks because they shit all over you. Oh, and I guess it kind of sucks for the Pope too, but he's dead now so that's okay.
In conclusion, poker is a pretty shitty game. But in the end, all it is is a game, and the moment you make it into something more than it really is is the moment that it begins to become ridiculous. Seriously, professional poker players? The word professional should indicate that you possess some sort of a talent, and by talent I don't mean sitting on your ass, and looking at a couple of pieces of paper and being a fucking douchebag. Play the game, but don't let the game play you.
Arthur Lee on 4:00 am 0 comments
Friday,November 25th, 2005
Turkey.
If I was a turkey, my favorite day would probably be my birthday. My least favorite day would probably be Thanksgiving, because seriously, Thanksgiving is pretty much like the Holocaust of the Turkey world. So pretty much it's the Holocaust except with Turkey's instead of Jews. The oven, however, remains constant. In other news, I am probably going to hell for that comment.
But really, turkeys are pretty much fucked because pretty much all they're good for is being fuckin tasty.
Hell, even when they're screaming out in fuckin agony as you're chopping their heads off they're saying "gobble gobble." They might as well be screaming "Eat me, motherfucker. Eat me," but that'd be kind of sick because I'd never eat something so desperate to be eaten. Unless, of course, it was like a Tiramisu cake or something, but I've never seen a Tiramisu cake with a mouth so I don't think I'll have to worry about it talking to me any time soon.
And what's worse is that it doesn't end with just turkey genocide. After you cut the turkey's face off, you proceed by shoving tons of bread shit into its ass. Now homosexuals aside, nobody enjoys getting shit pushed into their assholes, but not even homosexuals like getting bread shoved into their assholes. But I guess it doesn't even matter for the turkey seeing as it's got no face anymore.
Which isn't a sad loss either because turkeys look like chickens with acne problems. And as if it weren't bad enough, their chins look like scrotums. And seeing as scrotums are only good for holding the testes, having an empty scrotum on your chin is kind of like having an empty scrotum under your penis: absolutely pointless.
So the moral of the story is, Thanksgiving shouldn't be about drinking, eating, and being merry. The true meaning of Thanksgiving is that it is a day to give thanks to the Lord for all of our blessings. And every Thanksgiving day, you should be thankful that you're not a turkey, because the things they do to a turkey carcass on Thanksgiving day would be passed off for necrophilia or bestiality on any other creature.
But really, turkeys are pretty much fucked because pretty much all they're good for is being fuckin tasty.
Hell, even when they're screaming out in fuckin agony as you're chopping their heads off they're saying "gobble gobble." They might as well be screaming "Eat me, motherfucker. Eat me," but that'd be kind of sick because I'd never eat something so desperate to be eaten. Unless, of course, it was like a Tiramisu cake or something, but I've never seen a Tiramisu cake with a mouth so I don't think I'll have to worry about it talking to me any time soon.
And what's worse is that it doesn't end with just turkey genocide. After you cut the turkey's face off, you proceed by shoving tons of bread shit into its ass. Now homosexuals aside, nobody enjoys getting shit pushed into their assholes, but not even homosexuals like getting bread shoved into their assholes. But I guess it doesn't even matter for the turkey seeing as it's got no face anymore.
Which isn't a sad loss either because turkeys look like chickens with acne problems. And as if it weren't bad enough, their chins look like scrotums. And seeing as scrotums are only good for holding the testes, having an empty scrotum on your chin is kind of like having an empty scrotum under your penis: absolutely pointless.
So the moral of the story is, Thanksgiving shouldn't be about drinking, eating, and being merry. The true meaning of Thanksgiving is that it is a day to give thanks to the Lord for all of our blessings. And every Thanksgiving day, you should be thankful that you're not a turkey, because the things they do to a turkey carcass on Thanksgiving day would be passed off for necrophilia or bestiality on any other creature.
Arthur Lee on 3:14 am 0 comments
Thursday,November 24th, 2005
Rubber Band
My fake band:
arthur lee and the radmobiles !
(you gotta click on the song name to hear the song, dawgs)
arthur lee and the radmobiles !
(you gotta click on the song name to hear the song, dawgs)
Arthur Lee on 4:17 pm 0 comments
Monday,October 31st, 2005
Master Lee: Volume V
Arthur Lee on 7:09 pm 0 comments
Sunday,October 30th, 2005
Big Pimpin' for my Little Man
To make up for lack of updates, I wanna show you guys what my younger brother's been doing in the privacy of his own room, late at night, when the parents are asleep, with his doors locked. It surprised even me, and I have a heart of steel and hellfire:
Ivan...?
Ivan...?
Arthur Lee on 12:11 am 0 comments
Monday,October 10th, 2005
A filler article
New research shows that dinosaurs became extinct because of their unorthodox method of reproduction:
The male T-Rex would concentrate really hard at the female T-Rex's vagina. At this point, the male would shoot a sperm laser from its eyes, inseminating the female by means of melting its vagina off.
Anyways, dinosaurs became extinct because lasers weren't invented back then.
The male T-Rex would concentrate really hard at the female T-Rex's vagina. At this point, the male would shoot a sperm laser from its eyes, inseminating the female by means of melting its vagina off.
Anyways, dinosaurs became extinct because lasers weren't invented back then.
Arthur Lee on 1:16 am 0 comments
Friday,September 09th, 2005
THE END! Go back to page 1, assbitch.
Choose Your Own Adventure books were the greatest thing to grace the Earth since Jesus Christ died and gave us a day off at school. The premise of Choose Your Own Adventure books were that you, the reader, could make your own decisions that would affect the course of the plot.
Of course every choice lead to death, but there was always maybe one happy ending, and maybe four or five pretty-shitty-but-at-least-I'm-not-dead endings. For example, you fall off an airplane, and on the way down, you get hit by another airplane. Your legs and arms and lower torso are torn off of your body, but you are still conscious, for the time being anyways.
And for some reason, all of these endings were the result of either completely obvious or completely arbitrary decisions. For example, you may be given the choice between shooting yourself in the head or saving the world by shooting the oncoming alien invaders, but on the other hand you might also be given the choice to pick up a plunger, only to have it revealed in the next page that the plunger was actually a nuke disguised as a rocket, which had the unfortunate fate of having a red cup on the end to make it look like a plunger, which it was not as denoted by the blast that killed 90% of the world's population. And as if is global destruction wasn't enough, the book shits a giant, boldfaced, italicized, and underlined "THE END" to emphasize the finality of your fuckup. Which really wasn't final at all, since everybody cheated and used their fingers as bookmarks.
But fingers didn't save Jesus from having nails exploded into his hands, and they certainly didn't save Dumbledore from being killed by Snape in that Harry Potter book I didn't read because I have friends. Fingers are used for being middle at people you hate, not turning back time. Because in life, your fuckups are permanent, kind of like a permanent marker, except even moreso because permanent markers wash off sometimes. Imagine God made the perfect permanent marker, and even that wouldn't be permanent enough to describe how permanent your fuckups are.
And that's what makes the idea of time travel so appealing. The fact that you can punch a random guy in the face and just go back in time and it's as if nothing ever happened. And the fact that you can do it over and over and over, until you get tired of punching faces and move onto something worse, like picking your nose in public.
But the fact that I'm sitting here, typing all of this bullshit is just proof that I'll never ever invent a time machine in my lifetime. I know this because I know that if I ever were to invent a time machine, I would use it to go back in time and abort myself, so that I wouldn't have to deal with life and all of the stupid people that come along with it. But like I said, the fact that I'm sitting here typing this, instead of being a dead fetus aborted by my future self just proves the fact that I'll never ever invent a time machine.
Fuck you, brain.
Of course every choice lead to death, but there was always maybe one happy ending, and maybe four or five pretty-shitty-but-at-least-I'm-not-dead endings. For example, you fall off an airplane, and on the way down, you get hit by another airplane. Your legs and arms and lower torso are torn off of your body, but you are still conscious, for the time being anyways.
And for some reason, all of these endings were the result of either completely obvious or completely arbitrary decisions. For example, you may be given the choice between shooting yourself in the head or saving the world by shooting the oncoming alien invaders, but on the other hand you might also be given the choice to pick up a plunger, only to have it revealed in the next page that the plunger was actually a nuke disguised as a rocket, which had the unfortunate fate of having a red cup on the end to make it look like a plunger, which it was not as denoted by the blast that killed 90% of the world's population. And as if is global destruction wasn't enough, the book shits a giant, boldfaced, italicized, and underlined "THE END" to emphasize the finality of your fuckup. Which really wasn't final at all, since everybody cheated and used their fingers as bookmarks.
But fingers didn't save Jesus from having nails exploded into his hands, and they certainly didn't save Dumbledore from being killed by Snape in that Harry Potter book I didn't read because I have friends. Fingers are used for being middle at people you hate, not turning back time. Because in life, your fuckups are permanent, kind of like a permanent marker, except even moreso because permanent markers wash off sometimes. Imagine God made the perfect permanent marker, and even that wouldn't be permanent enough to describe how permanent your fuckups are.
And that's what makes the idea of time travel so appealing. The fact that you can punch a random guy in the face and just go back in time and it's as if nothing ever happened. And the fact that you can do it over and over and over, until you get tired of punching faces and move onto something worse, like picking your nose in public.
But the fact that I'm sitting here, typing all of this bullshit is just proof that I'll never ever invent a time machine in my lifetime. I know this because I know that if I ever were to invent a time machine, I would use it to go back in time and abort myself, so that I wouldn't have to deal with life and all of the stupid people that come along with it. But like I said, the fact that I'm sitting here typing this, instead of being a dead fetus aborted by my future self just proves the fact that I'll never ever invent a time machine.
Fuck you, brain.
Arthur Lee on 2:24 am 0 comments
Friday,August 26th, 2005
Myspace is still full of retards.
EDIT: The link in the article doesn't link to the right myspace page anymore. Myspace sucks anyways :)
The internet is often referred to as the information superhighway, and like any other superhighway, the information superhighway is riddled with its share of roadkill. And because I am not a goth, or a mortician, or a gothic mortician, I do not enjoy the sight of dead things, and so I swerve with great finesse and beauty to avoid making a bigger mess than is already there. But every once in awhile, it isn't you that's careening towards the roadkill, but it's the roadkill that careens towards you, and so when I noticed that I had recieved several comments on my Myspace Blog from a user named RotWithMe, I knew it wouldn't be pretty.
And I'm rarely ever wrong about anything:
Enter RotWithMe, who commented on each and every one of my blog entries as if she were, for some reason, obligated to verbalize her obvious lack in literary taste in the form of a comment. The first comment I read from her said that I was "fucking stupid." The next comment read from her said that I was "Funny. Not." And somewhat predictably, another comment stated that I was "dumb." Keep in mind that displayed not one centimeter away from this comment was the above image, displayed in full Technipallor. Comedy this good could not be found in a circus full of pirates.
So like any gentleman, I decided to learn a little bit more about the girl I was going to demolish with my brain.
The first thing I notice is that she is actually a he. My mistake, the red handbag behind his shoulder certainly could have fooled me.
If you've ever seen the movie Memento, you'd know that sometimes things are much different when viewed again through different lenses. Because see, when this person was a she, being interested in "barbies" and "unicorns" was pretty normal. But add a penis into the mix and all of a sudden something's awful. And it isn't the unicorns because they're extinct.
And so I sent the guy a message, aptly titled "BEETLEJUICE, BEETLEJUICE, BEETLEJUICE" which read "Why do you have a purse in your room? You look like a girl, grow a penis and grow up :) "
Within a few minutes, I get a response: "that's what your mom said after i raped her the other night. bitch screamed for her life. "
Now according to this, while he was busy raping my mother, she told him to grow a penis and to grow up. Correct me if I'm wrong but if anybody ever told me this while I was fucking them, I would be very embarassed. Then again, this person was probably desensitized to the whole "embarassment" thing, being a goth and all.
A few minutes later, his latest response hits mailboxes everywhere:
"queer. go eat some rice. i'm sure you prefer it white cuz u wish u were white. nigger semen"
I'm not sure you notice this, but the use of imagery in this message is quite remarkable. First we see the reptition of images that suggest whiteness, such as rice, and the words "white" and "white." This is then followed by the the phrase "nigger semen", representing the stark contrast between black and white. We then apply this imagery to the photograph above and notice:
The whole thing stinks of his face.
I tell him that he's taking the whole being white thing a bit too seriously. And that he looks like a clown.
His response comes in the form of a pantomime. Just kidding, it was text:
"Those were my intentions, smart one. No really, smart! The truth is...I wanna be on you. Yes, in a platonic, girly way. Take me to another level. "
I take offense to being called "smart one", and call it a night.
The internet is often referred to as the information superhighway, and like any other superhighway, the information superhighway is riddled with its share of roadkill. And because I am not a goth, or a mortician, or a gothic mortician, I do not enjoy the sight of dead things, and so I swerve with great finesse and beauty to avoid making a bigger mess than is already there. But every once in awhile, it isn't you that's careening towards the roadkill, but it's the roadkill that careens towards you, and so when I noticed that I had recieved several comments on my Myspace Blog from a user named RotWithMe, I knew it wouldn't be pretty.
And I'm rarely ever wrong about anything:
Enter RotWithMe, who commented on each and every one of my blog entries as if she were, for some reason, obligated to verbalize her obvious lack in literary taste in the form of a comment. The first comment I read from her said that I was "fucking stupid." The next comment read from her said that I was "Funny. Not." And somewhat predictably, another comment stated that I was "dumb." Keep in mind that displayed not one centimeter away from this comment was the above image, displayed in full Technipallor. Comedy this good could not be found in a circus full of pirates.
So like any gentleman, I decided to learn a little bit more about the girl I was going to demolish with my brain.
The first thing I notice is that she is actually a he. My mistake, the red handbag behind his shoulder certainly could have fooled me.
If you've ever seen the movie Memento, you'd know that sometimes things are much different when viewed again through different lenses. Because see, when this person was a she, being interested in "barbies" and "unicorns" was pretty normal. But add a penis into the mix and all of a sudden something's awful. And it isn't the unicorns because they're extinct.
And so I sent the guy a message, aptly titled "BEETLEJUICE, BEETLEJUICE, BEETLEJUICE" which read "Why do you have a purse in your room? You look like a girl, grow a penis and grow up :) "
Within a few minutes, I get a response: "that's what your mom said after i raped her the other night. bitch screamed for her life. "
Now according to this, while he was busy raping my mother, she told him to grow a penis and to grow up. Correct me if I'm wrong but if anybody ever told me this while I was fucking them, I would be very embarassed. Then again, this person was probably desensitized to the whole "embarassment" thing, being a goth and all.
A few minutes later, his latest response hits mailboxes everywhere:
"queer. go eat some rice. i'm sure you prefer it white cuz u wish u were white. nigger semen"
I'm not sure you notice this, but the use of imagery in this message is quite remarkable. First we see the reptition of images that suggest whiteness, such as rice, and the words "white" and "white." This is then followed by the the phrase "nigger semen", representing the stark contrast between black and white. We then apply this imagery to the photograph above and notice:
The whole thing stinks of his face.
I tell him that he's taking the whole being white thing a bit too seriously. And that he looks like a clown.
His response comes in the form of a pantomime. Just kidding, it was text:
"Those were my intentions, smart one. No really, smart! The truth is...I wanna be on you. Yes, in a platonic, girly way. Take me to another level. "
I take offense to being called "smart one", and call it a night.
Arthur Lee on 2:14 am 0 comments
Monday,August 22nd, 2005
The Skeleton Key is a great movie.
So there's this movie called The Skeleton Key and it should actually be called The Skkkeleton KKKey because the whole movie hated black people.
Now, before I continue, if, for some reason, you do not want the movie spoiled, you should probably stop reading now because it would be quite the travesty if you were to find out that the surprise twist ending is that the white grandma is not really an white grandma at all, but a dead black chick, and that white lawyer is not really a white lawyer at all, but a dead black dude. And that they spend their time tricking and killing white people.
The way they do this is by using voodoo magic, which is something that only black people know because black people are mystical and mysterious and stuff, kind of like vampires and boogeymen and all other kinds of make believe. They take over the bodies of white people by tricking them into thinking that they are protecting themselves but what they are REALLY doing is preventing themselves from escaping. Escaping from what, you may ask? Well, the horrible, terrifying BLACK PEOPLE, duh.
In taking over the bodies of these white people, the black couple are allowed to live the remainder of what would have been their victims' lives. And what exactly does this mean? Well it means that the black couple will have another couple years to trick and kill another white person and steal their body so that they can do it all over again. Joy!
So what's so scary about that, you might ask?
Absolutely nothing. In fact, I think the scariest part of the entire movie was when the young, attractive white girl goes to the gas station and bam outta nowhere there's this big black guy and everyone in the theatre screams because black people are scary and they apparently trick you and kill you and steal your body so that they can trick and kill all your friends too.
Now is it just me, or is there a subtle undertone here? Something along the lines of racial equality and the betterment of the African American peoples. You see, the moral of the movie is that black people are not to be feared, but embraced, for they are completely trustworthy and not going to kill you. The Skeleton Key espouses an America free of any preconcieved notions of any persons of any race or creed, and where Martin Luther King Jr. once said "I have a dream," the Skeleton Key proudly proclaims "I have a scream." And it is in that scream that we are able to see that oh fuck it the Skeleton Key is a shitty, racist movie and you should never ever see it.
Now, before I continue, if, for some reason, you do not want the movie spoiled, you should probably stop reading now because it would be quite the travesty if you were to find out that the surprise twist ending is that the white grandma is not really an white grandma at all, but a dead black chick, and that white lawyer is not really a white lawyer at all, but a dead black dude. And that they spend their time tricking and killing white people.
The way they do this is by using voodoo magic, which is something that only black people know because black people are mystical and mysterious and stuff, kind of like vampires and boogeymen and all other kinds of make believe. They take over the bodies of white people by tricking them into thinking that they are protecting themselves but what they are REALLY doing is preventing themselves from escaping. Escaping from what, you may ask? Well, the horrible, terrifying BLACK PEOPLE, duh.
In taking over the bodies of these white people, the black couple are allowed to live the remainder of what would have been their victims' lives. And what exactly does this mean? Well it means that the black couple will have another couple years to trick and kill another white person and steal their body so that they can do it all over again. Joy!
So what's so scary about that, you might ask?
Absolutely nothing. In fact, I think the scariest part of the entire movie was when the young, attractive white girl goes to the gas station and bam outta nowhere there's this big black guy and everyone in the theatre screams because black people are scary and they apparently trick you and kill you and steal your body so that they can trick and kill all your friends too.
Now is it just me, or is there a subtle undertone here? Something along the lines of racial equality and the betterment of the African American peoples. You see, the moral of the movie is that black people are not to be feared, but embraced, for they are completely trustworthy and not going to kill you. The Skeleton Key espouses an America free of any preconcieved notions of any persons of any race or creed, and where Martin Luther King Jr. once said "I have a dream," the Skeleton Key proudly proclaims "I have a scream." And it is in that scream that we are able to see that oh fuck it the Skeleton Key is a shitty, racist movie and you should never ever see it.
Arthur Lee on 2:48 am 0 comments
Friday,August 12th, 2005
School, and its many aces up its many sleeves
School is pretty fucked up because it's always playing tricks on you. I mean seriously, when you were five, your teachers told you the only way you could ever add or subtract was to use your fingers. And that worked for the year until you turned six and your teachers were like "Surprise, there are numbers bigger than 10, bitch!" and you're like," Oh shit what the fuck, I only have 10 fingers." And when you finally understand the concept of 11, your teachers tell you "Surprise, there are NEGATIVE numbers, bitch!" and you're like "Oh shit what the fuck, how can you have less than 0 apples?!" and then when you finally get negative numbers, your teachers are like "Surprise, there are numbers in between these numbers! Decimals, bitch!" and so you're like "Oh shit, what the fuck, how can you be between a number?!" and then you finally get decimals and you think "Phew, above 0, below zero, and everything in between, there can't POSSIBLY be any more numbers" and then your teachers are like "Surprise, imaginary numbers, bitch!" and that's when you fucking quit math because it's all a scam.
And what about English? Your teachers teach you to print, telling you "This is how you write an A." Then, bam, outta nowhere, fucking cursive and your teachers are like "Only kindergarteners print, cursive is the way of the future," and so you struggle with it, wondering why the fuck the Q looks like a 2, and that's when your teachers say "Printing? Cursive? Type-written." And by this time you have carpal tunnel syndrome and your wrists are fucked, and that's when your teacher jumps out of the closet and says "Surprise! Now you can write these inclass essays by hand, but you gotta use a pen!"
I can only imagine the horrors college has in store for me.
And what about English? Your teachers teach you to print, telling you "This is how you write an A." Then, bam, outta nowhere, fucking cursive and your teachers are like "Only kindergarteners print, cursive is the way of the future," and so you struggle with it, wondering why the fuck the Q looks like a 2, and that's when your teachers say "Printing? Cursive? Type-written." And by this time you have carpal tunnel syndrome and your wrists are fucked, and that's when your teacher jumps out of the closet and says "Surprise! Now you can write these inclass essays by hand, but you gotta use a pen!"
I can only imagine the horrors college has in store for me.
Arthur Lee on 2:13 am 0 comments
Tuesday,August 09th, 2005
A Guide to Love
Everyone who reads my site is a virgin, because only virgins read blogs, and that's a fact because I said so and I'm rarely, if ever wrong. But fear not, Bobby Nofuck, because with my simple guide, we will transform you from a rather unpopular dud to totally copular stud. And by copular, I mean "regarding copulation" and not the actual definition of the word copular, which, if you already know from the top of you head, you might as well just stop reading because not even my guide will be able to help you out.
Anyways, first things first, girls hate it when boys are too much smarter than them, so whenever you approach them to start a conversation, be sure to only use words that are 4 letters in length or less. If you ever have to mention any numbers, be sure to show raise that many fingers on your hand, so that your object of affection will be able to follow. If the number is greater than 10, I would suggest you either grow some more fingers, or borrow somebody's hands. DO NOT use one hand to represent the tens and the other to represent the ones, because that's called "multiplication" and "addition", and that's going to confuse your partner for sure. When you're faced with a word that's longer than four letters, and you can't think of an alternative, try to explain the word instead, using words that are four letters or less. So instead of saying "So, my grandmother passed away today", say something like "My mom who is not my mom and is old died on the day that is the now."
Another important thing to do is to constantly assert how gigantic you are. For instance, if you find yourself in front of an attractive girl in the middle of a fast food restaurant, instead of ordering a "hamburger with a medium drink" order a "hugenormous slab of meat crushed by two planetary hunks of bread and a gargantuan beverage the size of two Pacific Oceans." All the while, be sure to be glancing down at your penis so that the girl is aware that you are referring to your penis and not your ego because girls hate guys with big egos and love guys with monolithic penises.
Girls also love it when guys are cute, so before you attempt to woo the woman of your affections, go to the petstore, buy a bunny rabbit, and smear its droppings all over your body, because bunnies are cute, and by association, their crap is also cute, and therefore their smearing their crap all over your body will make you cute. If the droppings do not look like pellets, you have probably purchased a dog, or an iguana, and in either case you are fucking screwed and stupid.
Also, girls like when guys are able to hold a decent conversation, but they also like sophisticated, and cosmopolitan people. So a great way to kill two birds with one stone is to feed them one of the following stories. Please remember to choose only ONE, as using more than one will give yourself away:
A) "When I was young, I was brought up in a small African village just west of Zimbabwe. There, I was raised by an old African fisher, who taught me the importance of patience. He taught me that good things only come to those who wait, and for years I've waited and it finally seems to have paid off, being able to talk to you. He also taught me how to speak Jujubibimbim, the native African tongue. Allow me to translate some phrases for you."
B) "When I was young, I was brought up in a small African village just east of Zimbabwe. There, I was raised by an young African fisher, who taught me the importance of patience. He taught me that good things only come to those who wait, and for years I've waited and it finally seems to have paid off, being able to talk to you. He also taught me how to speak Jujubibimbim, the native African tongue. Allow me to translate some phrases for you."
And then wait for your girl to say something, and when she does, say something like "Iwana tocha ya-boube" or something equally African sounding. She will be so impressed by how incredibly learned you are that she will forget to expect a decent conversation from you.
If by this point, she hasn't given you permission to take her now, there's one more thing you can do in order to win her affections. This is to tell her that you are filthy rich and when she tells you to prove it, tell her that you forgot your wallet in your helicopter, and that you don't remember which helicopter you left it in because you have like 3,000. And then after having sexy sex with her, you can tell her that you lost more than just your virginity during the past minute; you also lost your fortune on Wall Street. Your alibi is infallible.
Now, if you've read this far, hopefully you will have lost your virginity. If you haven't, there's nothing to worry about, because someday they'll invent robots that look like girls and everything will be cool. They'll be just like the real thing, except less complaining. But that in and of itself would deny it of being anything like a girl in the first place. So I guess you're screwed. Except not literally, because... well, you know.
Anyways, first things first, girls hate it when boys are too much smarter than them, so whenever you approach them to start a conversation, be sure to only use words that are 4 letters in length or less. If you ever have to mention any numbers, be sure to show raise that many fingers on your hand, so that your object of affection will be able to follow. If the number is greater than 10, I would suggest you either grow some more fingers, or borrow somebody's hands. DO NOT use one hand to represent the tens and the other to represent the ones, because that's called "multiplication" and "addition", and that's going to confuse your partner for sure. When you're faced with a word that's longer than four letters, and you can't think of an alternative, try to explain the word instead, using words that are four letters or less. So instead of saying "So, my grandmother passed away today", say something like "My mom who is not my mom and is old died on the day that is the now."
Another important thing to do is to constantly assert how gigantic you are. For instance, if you find yourself in front of an attractive girl in the middle of a fast food restaurant, instead of ordering a "hamburger with a medium drink" order a "hugenormous slab of meat crushed by two planetary hunks of bread and a gargantuan beverage the size of two Pacific Oceans." All the while, be sure to be glancing down at your penis so that the girl is aware that you are referring to your penis and not your ego because girls hate guys with big egos and love guys with monolithic penises.
Girls also love it when guys are cute, so before you attempt to woo the woman of your affections, go to the petstore, buy a bunny rabbit, and smear its droppings all over your body, because bunnies are cute, and by association, their crap is also cute, and therefore their smearing their crap all over your body will make you cute. If the droppings do not look like pellets, you have probably purchased a dog, or an iguana, and in either case you are fucking screwed and stupid.
Also, girls like when guys are able to hold a decent conversation, but they also like sophisticated, and cosmopolitan people. So a great way to kill two birds with one stone is to feed them one of the following stories. Please remember to choose only ONE, as using more than one will give yourself away:
A) "When I was young, I was brought up in a small African village just west of Zimbabwe. There, I was raised by an old African fisher, who taught me the importance of patience. He taught me that good things only come to those who wait, and for years I've waited and it finally seems to have paid off, being able to talk to you. He also taught me how to speak Jujubibimbim, the native African tongue. Allow me to translate some phrases for you."
B) "When I was young, I was brought up in a small African village just east of Zimbabwe. There, I was raised by an young African fisher, who taught me the importance of patience. He taught me that good things only come to those who wait, and for years I've waited and it finally seems to have paid off, being able to talk to you. He also taught me how to speak Jujubibimbim, the native African tongue. Allow me to translate some phrases for you."
And then wait for your girl to say something, and when she does, say something like "Iwana tocha ya-boube" or something equally African sounding. She will be so impressed by how incredibly learned you are that she will forget to expect a decent conversation from you.
If by this point, she hasn't given you permission to take her now, there's one more thing you can do in order to win her affections. This is to tell her that you are filthy rich and when she tells you to prove it, tell her that you forgot your wallet in your helicopter, and that you don't remember which helicopter you left it in because you have like 3,000. And then after having sexy sex with her, you can tell her that you lost more than just your virginity during the past minute; you also lost your fortune on Wall Street. Your alibi is infallible.
Now, if you've read this far, hopefully you will have lost your virginity. If you haven't, there's nothing to worry about, because someday they'll invent robots that look like girls and everything will be cool. They'll be just like the real thing, except less complaining. But that in and of itself would deny it of being anything like a girl in the first place. So I guess you're screwed. Except not literally, because... well, you know.
Arthur Lee on 2:58 am 0 comments
Wednesday,August 03rd, 2005
Karma is a stupid word
Karma.
So a long time ago, God was invented, and I hear that he created everything and because he was such a great guy, he decided to make a bunch of people that would tell him how great he was. One of these guys, Buddha, decided that God's monopoly on religion had to be put to an end, so he created a new ism called Buddhism. But God was not about to lose his monopoly without a fight, and so he challenged Buddha to a contest to see which religion was better. It was kind of like Russian roullette, except with a grenade instead of a revolver. Now see, the rules of the game were that there would be six grenades, none of which were duds, and all of which could explode your fucking face. Now God and Buddha would have to select one of these grenades at random, put it up to their head, and pull out the pin. So God, in the form of Jesus, goes and selects a grenade. Buddha does the same. And so at the same time, they put the grenades to their heads, and pull out the pins. And then, in an amazing display of pyrotechnics, both grenades explode, causing their respective heads to pretty much explode too. There seemed to be no winner. But then all of a sudden, God comes from behind the bushes and says,"Ha, ha, Jesus resurrection, bitch!" and Jesus stands up and grows a new head, like a lizard. Except instead of a tail, it's a face that looks exactly like Jesus because it is Jesus. Buddha on the other hand, reincarnates as a pig, is slaughtered, and then eaten by Jesus in an unkosher, yet incredibly delicious bacon dinner. God and his holy son then get on their rocket ship and fly back to heaven. Buddha on the other hand, was humiliated. Not used to defeat, he rationalized that though he himself had been been defeated that day, God and Jesus would get theirs later. Realizing that this concept was actually called 'revenge', Buddha decided to give it a nicer name, and so the idea of 'karma' was invented.
And that's exactly what karma is: it's just a way of saying that though I may have lost today, I am most certainly going to kick your ass tomorrow. Give a bum a penny? You've got good karma, which means as revenge, the bum won't be shanking your face with a knife. Steal a penny from a bum? You've got bad karma, which means as revenge the bum will probably fuck your wife and shoot your kids.
Which makes you wonder, what exactly is the karma exchange rate. Must every act of karma come bundled with another act of karma of equal or lesser value? Do I get roll over karma, as in, if I give enough pennies to enough bums, can I grow wings and fly? If I killed your kitten, could you steal a dime from me and save the remaining karma for another time? If I step on an ant, will a giant foot fall from fucking nowhere and squish me on the sidewalk? The answer to all of these questions is a resounding NO.
The fact is, karma is a stupid thing thought up by some fat dude because somebody called him fat. The world isn't always even steven, and sometimes crap happens and people get away with it. That's why it's absolutely crap for people to rely on fanciful notions like karma to excuse themselves for their own inaction. And the only way you're gonna convince me otherwise is if a giant foot falls on my fucking head, because God knows I've stepped on a lot of ants as a child.
So a long time ago, God was invented, and I hear that he created everything and because he was such a great guy, he decided to make a bunch of people that would tell him how great he was. One of these guys, Buddha, decided that God's monopoly on religion had to be put to an end, so he created a new ism called Buddhism. But God was not about to lose his monopoly without a fight, and so he challenged Buddha to a contest to see which religion was better. It was kind of like Russian roullette, except with a grenade instead of a revolver. Now see, the rules of the game were that there would be six grenades, none of which were duds, and all of which could explode your fucking face. Now God and Buddha would have to select one of these grenades at random, put it up to their head, and pull out the pin. So God, in the form of Jesus, goes and selects a grenade. Buddha does the same. And so at the same time, they put the grenades to their heads, and pull out the pins. And then, in an amazing display of pyrotechnics, both grenades explode, causing their respective heads to pretty much explode too. There seemed to be no winner. But then all of a sudden, God comes from behind the bushes and says,"Ha, ha, Jesus resurrection, bitch!" and Jesus stands up and grows a new head, like a lizard. Except instead of a tail, it's a face that looks exactly like Jesus because it is Jesus. Buddha on the other hand, reincarnates as a pig, is slaughtered, and then eaten by Jesus in an unkosher, yet incredibly delicious bacon dinner. God and his holy son then get on their rocket ship and fly back to heaven. Buddha on the other hand, was humiliated. Not used to defeat, he rationalized that though he himself had been been defeated that day, God and Jesus would get theirs later. Realizing that this concept was actually called 'revenge', Buddha decided to give it a nicer name, and so the idea of 'karma' was invented.
And that's exactly what karma is: it's just a way of saying that though I may have lost today, I am most certainly going to kick your ass tomorrow. Give a bum a penny? You've got good karma, which means as revenge, the bum won't be shanking your face with a knife. Steal a penny from a bum? You've got bad karma, which means as revenge the bum will probably fuck your wife and shoot your kids.
Which makes you wonder, what exactly is the karma exchange rate. Must every act of karma come bundled with another act of karma of equal or lesser value? Do I get roll over karma, as in, if I give enough pennies to enough bums, can I grow wings and fly? If I killed your kitten, could you steal a dime from me and save the remaining karma for another time? If I step on an ant, will a giant foot fall from fucking nowhere and squish me on the sidewalk? The answer to all of these questions is a resounding NO.
The fact is, karma is a stupid thing thought up by some fat dude because somebody called him fat. The world isn't always even steven, and sometimes crap happens and people get away with it. That's why it's absolutely crap for people to rely on fanciful notions like karma to excuse themselves for their own inaction. And the only way you're gonna convince me otherwise is if a giant foot falls on my fucking head, because God knows I've stepped on a lot of ants as a child.
Arthur Lee on 3:46 am 0 comments
Sunday,July 31st, 2005
Dear journal, today was great. Talked to some girls!
Sometimes I think to myself,"Man, people's blogs should be more interesting," but then I realized that that the only way that could ever happen is if people's lives got more interesting, which, for many people, is about as likely to happen as something really really unlikely to happen, like me being wrong.
It's kind of like finding a big pile of shit on the street. Bloggers are like people that get that piece of shit and add a sprig of parsley on it. Seriously, it was a shit BEFORE the parsley, it's still a shit AFTER the parsley, and no amount of garnishing is going to make me want to take a big, shitty bite of that shitpile. Now, in order for this metaphor to make sense, replace the pile of shit with an equally shitty day and the sprig of parsley with a bunch of words. If you had a particularly boring day, what the crap makes you think anybody is going to want to relive that boring day? Unless it was a boring day UNTIL some strippers fell outta the sky and their boobs exploded when they hit the pavement, keep your shitty life to yourself.
Andno offense to you, Winston, but nobody really cares which Carebear some internet quiz told you you were. Because you know you've hit rock bottom when you have to turn to a COMPUTER to tell you what kind of a person you are. Here, I'll save you all the work, you're a shitty, boring person. But you'd better not take my word for it, after all, I'm a (gasp)human being, and we all know that calculators are much, much better at understanding people than people are.
And then we've got these other people who should just replace their entire blog with
because all they do is cry and write poetry about crying. And when they're not writing poetry about crying, they're writing pages and pages about how happiness doesn't exist, which is pretty stupid because all it takes to prove them wrong is for me to smile a little. And it wouldn't even be that hard to because the thought of being right and the fact that I can totally ruin someone's day while I'm at it makes me really happy.
So how do we fix these boring, sad blogs? Easy! Just add clowns.
Because really, is a clown ever boring, or sad? Never!
Clowns can do so many things with balls, like bounce on them, juggle them, put them on their nose, and fondle them on sleeping five year olds. And they have these tiny cars, and these little flowers that shoot semen on you, and big, goofy shoes!
And they're so interesting, and their wild antics never get boring! I love how they are always just clowning around!
Man, blogs would be so much better if they had clowns in them. Or even better, if they had clowns WRITING them. Awesome.
It's kind of like finding a big pile of shit on the street. Bloggers are like people that get that piece of shit and add a sprig of parsley on it. Seriously, it was a shit BEFORE the parsley, it's still a shit AFTER the parsley, and no amount of garnishing is going to make me want to take a big, shitty bite of that shitpile. Now, in order for this metaphor to make sense, replace the pile of shit with an equally shitty day and the sprig of parsley with a bunch of words. If you had a particularly boring day, what the crap makes you think anybody is going to want to relive that boring day? Unless it was a boring day UNTIL some strippers fell outta the sky and their boobs exploded when they hit the pavement, keep your shitty life to yourself.
And
And then we've got these other people who should just replace their entire blog with
because all they do is cry and write poetry about crying. And when they're not writing poetry about crying, they're writing pages and pages about how happiness doesn't exist, which is pretty stupid because all it takes to prove them wrong is for me to smile a little. And it wouldn't even be that hard to because the thought of being right and the fact that I can totally ruin someone's day while I'm at it makes me really happy.
So how do we fix these boring, sad blogs? Easy! Just add clowns.
Because really, is a clown ever boring, or sad? Never!
Clowns can do so many things with balls, like bounce on them, juggle them, put them on their nose, and fondle them on sleeping five year olds. And they have these tiny cars, and these little flowers that shoot semen on you, and big, goofy shoes!
And they're so interesting, and their wild antics never get boring! I love how they are always just clowning around!
Man, blogs would be so much better if they had clowns in them. Or even better, if they had clowns WRITING them. Awesome.
Arthur Lee on 3:02 am 0 comments
Sunday,July 10th, 2005
Does not compute.
Why is it that computers in movies are always evil. Seriously, it's always the Attack of the KILLER Robots, instead of something like the Attack of the Useful Robots. Which would totally make more sense because most electrical appliances these days don't try to kill people. Like my computer. I have yet to see my computer rebel and shoot skin melting lasers at me.
And yet Hollywood persists. I mean seriously, when's the last time you've seen a robot in a movie that SAVED lives instead of mercilessly melting them? I can only remember one, and that's the Iron Giant, and the only reason he wasn't making well done steaks out of people was because he totally forgot he was supposed to because he got shocked by electricity.
Which makes me wonder, why is it that these hobo feeding, terrorist fighting, Cancer curing computers always turn evil when someone spills a soda on them or something. Why can't they just, you know, stop working, or maybe work less efficiently, instead of, you know, becoming bent on world destruction. Better yet, why is it that these multi-million dollar computers always have stupid weaknesses, like soda. You'd think that people would care enough about expensive equipment, to, you know, protect it or something.
But they don't, and so when that lightning strikes that artificial intelligence jet fighter pilot supercomputer, it will not only change its target, but it will change its target to the fucking White House, because choosing a more abundant/accessible/less important target, like a tree, or a rock, or a preschool would just not be evil enough. Because lightning is scary, and scary things should turn things evil, kind of like how Michael Jackson turned the jury evil and set himself free.
But to be fair, when things turn evil for stupid reasons, they should probably die for stupid reasons too. Like that artificial intelligence jet fighter pilot supercomputer should just run out of batteries and stop working, or the killer robots bent on world destruction should just crash because they're running on Windows 95. Or maybe one of the scientists should discover a "Turn Computer Back Good" switch underneath a mug of coffee that'd been sitting on a table the entire movie. That'd make a suitably stupid ending.
However, Hollywood is never reasonable, and chances are we'll end up having to watch human emotion and instinct (which, by the way, no computer will ever be able to replicate because otherwise there will be no way for the humans to win) overcome machine-like efficiency as they take advantage of some stupid flaw and triumph over machine. But that's crap, and you know it. And that's why I think I should make a movie called Donnie Defibrilator.
It'll be about a defibrilator named Donnie that's completely useful, and never ever wants to kill anyone. In fact, he'll go as far as to help people by bringing them back alive and saving them from heart attacks.
But at one point in the movie, he'll get struck by lightning, and the audience will know "Uh oh, this is it! This is when Donnie turns into Donnie the Decapitator!" But Donnie will just sit up and laugh because he's a defibrilator, and electrical shock is what defibrilators do best. And the audience will be relieved because they will be glad that Donnie will not become evil, and they will feel happy instead of afraid.
The movie will end when Donnie is put out of commission when more advanced defibrilators are invented, and at first he will be sad, but then he will be happy, because he will realize that he is just really part of the Circle of Life (the same one as in the Lion King, except less African), and that one day, when he dies, his parts will be recycled and used to create a new Defibrilator, and it will be through this new Defibrilator that Donnie will live on. It will be a touching scene indeed.
But this movie will never be created, because Hollywood is full of fat, old slugs who are afraid of computers, and so movies about useful robots will never be made, and movies about killer robots will always be made. Except by independent film makers, and we all know nobody watches their movies anyways.
And yet Hollywood persists. I mean seriously, when's the last time you've seen a robot in a movie that SAVED lives instead of mercilessly melting them? I can only remember one, and that's the Iron Giant, and the only reason he wasn't making well done steaks out of people was because he totally forgot he was supposed to because he got shocked by electricity.
Which makes me wonder, why is it that these hobo feeding, terrorist fighting, Cancer curing computers always turn evil when someone spills a soda on them or something. Why can't they just, you know, stop working, or maybe work less efficiently, instead of, you know, becoming bent on world destruction. Better yet, why is it that these multi-million dollar computers always have stupid weaknesses, like soda. You'd think that people would care enough about expensive equipment, to, you know, protect it or something.
But they don't, and so when that lightning strikes that artificial intelligence jet fighter pilot supercomputer, it will not only change its target, but it will change its target to the fucking White House, because choosing a more abundant/accessible/less important target, like a tree, or a rock, or a preschool would just not be evil enough. Because lightning is scary, and scary things should turn things evil, kind of like how Michael Jackson turned the jury evil and set himself free.
But to be fair, when things turn evil for stupid reasons, they should probably die for stupid reasons too. Like that artificial intelligence jet fighter pilot supercomputer should just run out of batteries and stop working, or the killer robots bent on world destruction should just crash because they're running on Windows 95. Or maybe one of the scientists should discover a "Turn Computer Back Good" switch underneath a mug of coffee that'd been sitting on a table the entire movie. That'd make a suitably stupid ending.
However, Hollywood is never reasonable, and chances are we'll end up having to watch human emotion and instinct (which, by the way, no computer will ever be able to replicate because otherwise there will be no way for the humans to win) overcome machine-like efficiency as they take advantage of some stupid flaw and triumph over machine. But that's crap, and you know it. And that's why I think I should make a movie called Donnie Defibrilator.
It'll be about a defibrilator named Donnie that's completely useful, and never ever wants to kill anyone. In fact, he'll go as far as to help people by bringing them back alive and saving them from heart attacks.
But at one point in the movie, he'll get struck by lightning, and the audience will know "Uh oh, this is it! This is when Donnie turns into Donnie the Decapitator!" But Donnie will just sit up and laugh because he's a defibrilator, and electrical shock is what defibrilators do best. And the audience will be relieved because they will be glad that Donnie will not become evil, and they will feel happy instead of afraid.
The movie will end when Donnie is put out of commission when more advanced defibrilators are invented, and at first he will be sad, but then he will be happy, because he will realize that he is just really part of the Circle of Life (the same one as in the Lion King, except less African), and that one day, when he dies, his parts will be recycled and used to create a new Defibrilator, and it will be through this new Defibrilator that Donnie will live on. It will be a touching scene indeed.
But this movie will never be created, because Hollywood is full of fat, old slugs who are afraid of computers, and so movies about useful robots will never be made, and movies about killer robots will always be made. Except by independent film makers, and we all know nobody watches their movies anyways.
Arthur Lee on 3:18 am 0 comments
Wednesday,July 06th, 2005
A Story About Skunks and a Shitty Attempt At Providing A Moral
Skunks have by far the stupidest defense mechanism ever.
I mean, seriously, some animals can shoot out fucking needles, other animals spit out fucking poison, other animals can run fucking EAT YOU. The Horny Toad can fucking SHOOT BLOOD OUT OF ITS EYES, but the skunk? The skunk fucking smells.
Which is a really shitty superpower. I mean, Superman's powers can only be defeated by Kryptonite. Vampires' powers can only be defeated by Garlic. The Rock's powers can only be defeated by paper. Aliens' powers can only be defeated by Tom Cruise running around watching people get killed. Skunks? Their powers can be defeated by deciding to breathe out of your mouth. What a really shitty superpower.
And what's worse is that untalented people are so much BETTER at using this superpower than skunks are. I mean seriously, if a skunk walked into any Anime convention anywhere and sprayed its disgusting barfume all over the fat, virgin masses, nobody would notice because the odor would be overpowered by the stench of sweaty, five thousand pound nerds getting hot looking at cartoons with big breasts. Which is completely ridiculous because if these people ever wanted to see breasts, they could just take off their shirts and look in the mirror.
In fact, a skunk's inherent ability can easily be replicated by sitting around and not taking showers and doing absolutely nothing. Hell, you could even be DEAD and not doing anything besides rotting and you'd still do a better job than a skunk.
In conclusion, every time I feel like I have absolutely no talents, and that I'll never amount to anything in life, I am at the very least thankful that I am not a skunk. Because the sad truth is that a dead skunk does a better job at what it's supposed to do (smell like shit) than an alive skunk. People on the other hand, serve a higher purpose than smelling like shit, and I'm 99% sure that there's nobody out there in the world that can serve a purpose better dead than if they were alive. So take this to heart, you're never better dead than alive.
THIS JUST IN:
(Exception to the above rule: fat, sweaty anime nerds.)
I mean, seriously, some animals can shoot out fucking needles, other animals spit out fucking poison, other animals can run fucking EAT YOU. The Horny Toad can fucking SHOOT BLOOD OUT OF ITS EYES, but the skunk? The skunk fucking smells.
Which is a really shitty superpower. I mean, Superman's powers can only be defeated by Kryptonite. Vampires' powers can only be defeated by Garlic. The Rock's powers can only be defeated by paper. Aliens' powers can only be defeated by Tom Cruise running around watching people get killed. Skunks? Their powers can be defeated by deciding to breathe out of your mouth. What a really shitty superpower.
And what's worse is that untalented people are so much BETTER at using this superpower than skunks are. I mean seriously, if a skunk walked into any Anime convention anywhere and sprayed its disgusting barfume all over the fat, virgin masses, nobody would notice because the odor would be overpowered by the stench of sweaty, five thousand pound nerds getting hot looking at cartoons with big breasts. Which is completely ridiculous because if these people ever wanted to see breasts, they could just take off their shirts and look in the mirror.
In fact, a skunk's inherent ability can easily be replicated by sitting around and not taking showers and doing absolutely nothing. Hell, you could even be DEAD and not doing anything besides rotting and you'd still do a better job than a skunk.
In conclusion, every time I feel like I have absolutely no talents, and that I'll never amount to anything in life, I am at the very least thankful that I am not a skunk. Because the sad truth is that a dead skunk does a better job at what it's supposed to do (smell like shit) than an alive skunk. People on the other hand, serve a higher purpose than smelling like shit, and I'm 99% sure that there's nobody out there in the world that can serve a purpose better dead than if they were alive. So take this to heart, you're never better dead than alive.
THIS JUST IN:
SUICIDE KILLS. DON'T DO IT.
(Exception to the above rule: fat, sweaty anime nerds.)
Arthur Lee on 1:01 am 0 comments
Monday,July 04th, 2005
I'm going to make a game.
Sorry about the lack of updates, I've got a pretty good reason, and this is it:
I'm working on a side scrolling adventure platformer that I hope I'll be able to sell for 5 to 10 dollars a copy.
The name of the game is The Underside, and it's a game about an angry god who is going to destroy the world, and a small, mysterious character who is going to stop it. So far, the barebones plot's been written, and I have to say it's pretty good for just three days' worth of work.
I don't want to give away too much of the plot, because a lot of the game relies on it (It was originally gonna not have any enemies or anything like that).
So far, the basic movement and weapon code is done. I'm getting into this new art style that's a bit different from what I'm used to doing, but I'm gonna say it's a lot easier than what I've been doing, and in my opinion, looks a lot cooler.
The sound is gonna have a very retro feel to it, as is the gameplay, and the artwork. But that's not to say it'll look like complete shit, as a lot of "retro" games out there do.
As for how graphic the game will be, I'm aiming for what would be considered the equivalent of a PG or PG-13 rating. It's not gonna be excessively bloody (Though I might throw a tiny bit in there), and it's not going to have any explicit language. I do this because I want to maximize my audience.
As I said before, this is gonna be my first big project, and I'm gonna be selling it at 5 - 10 dollars a copy. I'm not exactly looking to turn a profit; I'm really doing this for the experience. As such, I don't want to sell a shitty product either, so I'm working my hardest to get everything to a relative level of professionalism. When it's done, I'm hoping the game will be a couple of hours long, excluding all the secret stuff I'll be adding. I'm a sucker for secret stuff, especially really obscure stuff.
Anyways, I'll keep you guys updated on the progress as it comes. Hopefully you'll understand why I haven't been updating as much recently, but I'll make a concerted effort to start writing more crap in the future.
Comments and well-wishes appreciated.
I'm working on a side scrolling adventure platformer that I hope I'll be able to sell for 5 to 10 dollars a copy.
The name of the game is The Underside, and it's a game about an angry god who is going to destroy the world, and a small, mysterious character who is going to stop it. So far, the barebones plot's been written, and I have to say it's pretty good for just three days' worth of work.
I don't want to give away too much of the plot, because a lot of the game relies on it (It was originally gonna not have any enemies or anything like that).
So far, the basic movement and weapon code is done. I'm getting into this new art style that's a bit different from what I'm used to doing, but I'm gonna say it's a lot easier than what I've been doing, and in my opinion, looks a lot cooler.
The sound is gonna have a very retro feel to it, as is the gameplay, and the artwork. But that's not to say it'll look like complete shit, as a lot of "retro" games out there do.
As for how graphic the game will be, I'm aiming for what would be considered the equivalent of a PG or PG-13 rating. It's not gonna be excessively bloody (Though I might throw a tiny bit in there), and it's not going to have any explicit language. I do this because I want to maximize my audience.
As I said before, this is gonna be my first big project, and I'm gonna be selling it at 5 - 10 dollars a copy. I'm not exactly looking to turn a profit; I'm really doing this for the experience. As such, I don't want to sell a shitty product either, so I'm working my hardest to get everything to a relative level of professionalism. When it's done, I'm hoping the game will be a couple of hours long, excluding all the secret stuff I'll be adding. I'm a sucker for secret stuff, especially really obscure stuff.
Anyways, I'll keep you guys updated on the progress as it comes. Hopefully you'll understand why I haven't been updating as much recently, but I'll make a concerted effort to start writing more crap in the future.
Comments and well-wishes appreciated.
Arthur Lee on 1:11 am 0 comments
Sunday,June 26th, 2005
Two Roads
Two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood
By Arthur Lee
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both,
Beside myself a cyborg stood,
And cared not where his treads would go.
So there I gazed, in pensive state,
The road less travelled before me lay,
And thusly did I contemplate,
The means by which I'd choose my way.
The robot's visual receptors,
Did not percieve the wear or tear,
Of either road nor did it know
The seriousness of my affair.
The left path, worn by years of travel,
Patterend by the soles of men,
Whose shoes left imprints in the gravel,
As proof that they once there had been.
The right path, hidden in the dark,
Forgotten by this generation,
Lay undisturbed beside the bark,
And trodden not by civilization.
And I, a man, in crossroads stood,
Faced with a choice to be determined.
And wondered long before the wood,
The good I'd in each pathway find.
The robot ran some calculations
And lights lit up within its head,
With random number generation,
Decided leftward he would tread.
And I, a man, with thought and mind,
Could not decide which road to take,
Where one I would adventure find,
The other was for certain safe,
But I, a man, not bound by fate,
Therefore did there at last decide,
A difference I would henceforth make,
And took the road travelled less by.
Trod I that path until at last,
The pathways did again entwine,
And at the end did I there find,
Standing at the destination,
The robot man in hibernation,
And there I had my revelation,
For while I searched for inspiration,
The robot simply did decide,
And reached the end quicker than I,
For when you let your thoughts astray,
You lose sight of the simple way.
By Arthur Lee
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both,
Beside myself a cyborg stood,
And cared not where his treads would go.
So there I gazed, in pensive state,
The road less travelled before me lay,
And thusly did I contemplate,
The means by which I'd choose my way.
The robot's visual receptors,
Did not percieve the wear or tear,
Of either road nor did it know
The seriousness of my affair.
The left path, worn by years of travel,
Patterend by the soles of men,
Whose shoes left imprints in the gravel,
As proof that they once there had been.
The right path, hidden in the dark,
Forgotten by this generation,
Lay undisturbed beside the bark,
And trodden not by civilization.
And I, a man, in crossroads stood,
Faced with a choice to be determined.
And wondered long before the wood,
The good I'd in each pathway find.
The robot ran some calculations
And lights lit up within its head,
With random number generation,
Decided leftward he would tread.
And I, a man, with thought and mind,
Could not decide which road to take,
Where one I would adventure find,
The other was for certain safe,
But I, a man, not bound by fate,
Therefore did there at last decide,
A difference I would henceforth make,
And took the road travelled less by.
Trod I that path until at last,
The pathways did again entwine,
And at the end did I there find,
Standing at the destination,
The robot man in hibernation,
And there I had my revelation,
For while I searched for inspiration,
The robot simply did decide,
And reached the end quicker than I,
For when you let your thoughts astray,
You lose sight of the simple way.
Arthur Lee on 2:34 am 0 comments
Saturday,June 25th, 2005
Prepare for trouble.
Arthur Lee on 2:01 pm 0 comments
Friday,June 17th, 2005
!
Arthur Lee on 3:41 pm 0 comments
Thursday,June 09th, 2005
D.
Arthur Lee on 6:59 pm 0 comments
Playdoh? More like Playdohn't.
Here's a tip to all youngsters:
No matter how appealing that Playdoh hamburger looks, don't ever fucking put it in your mouth.
No matter how appealing that Playdoh hamburger looks, don't ever fucking put it in your mouth.
Arthur Lee on 6:42 pm 0 comments
Monday,June 06th, 2005
Useless Utensils for $500, please.
Sometimes when you put things together, you get something fifty times better than what you had before. For example, when you put peanuts and butter together, you get peanutbutter. Take it a step further put peanutbutter and jelly together and you've got yourself a fucking tasty snack. But not all marriages end in fucking tasty snacks. Sometimes you put two things together and all you get is a fuckup. Kinda like my mom's eggs and my dad's sperm, except the complete opposite because I'm totally awesome.
Anyways, so this one dude was probably eating some mixed fruit one day. And you know mixed fruit, it gets ass-rapingly hard to tell whether you should use a spoon or a fork because it's like fruit, but with juice and crap, and so you're thinking maybe you gotta eat it with a spoon like cereal but then you get to thinking that maybe you gotta eat with a fork, like fruit. So anyways, this dude was thinking this crap out when outta fucking nowhere he gets the idea to put these two things together and invents what he cleverly calls a spork.
But it's kinda like getting some tar and some rat poison and mixing it together: you're not gonna get a cigarette. The same thing goes for the spork. Mixing a spoon and a fork isn't gonna create the ultimate kitchen utensil. Why? For starters, with a name like "spork", who would ever take it seriously. It'd be like me being named Speregg just because that's what I was made from. No thank you.
Furthermore, a spork makes a terrible spoon, and an even worse fork. Seriously, if you've ever tried to fork a piece of meat with a spork, you'd find that it does a better job cutting things into small pieces like a knife than forking them like a fork. Which is why they should probably change the name of the spork to kspork. Except the K would be silent, so it'd be impossible to tell if someone was saying spork or kspork. Which really doesn't matter because spork is a really stupid name, and an even stupider tool for that matter.
Anyways, if there's one thing to be learned from sporks (and really, I don't think there's very much else you could learn from such a stupid thing), it's that it's better to be a fucking awesome fork, or a fucking awesome spoon, than a really shitty spork. Don't live your life trying to be everything at once, because you'll soon find that you've wasted your time being a really shit everything instead of a really great something.
Anyways, so this one dude was probably eating some mixed fruit one day. And you know mixed fruit, it gets ass-rapingly hard to tell whether you should use a spoon or a fork because it's like fruit, but with juice and crap, and so you're thinking maybe you gotta eat it with a spoon like cereal but then you get to thinking that maybe you gotta eat with a fork, like fruit. So anyways, this dude was thinking this crap out when outta fucking nowhere he gets the idea to put these two things together and invents what he cleverly calls a spork.
But it's kinda like getting some tar and some rat poison and mixing it together: you're not gonna get a cigarette. The same thing goes for the spork. Mixing a spoon and a fork isn't gonna create the ultimate kitchen utensil. Why? For starters, with a name like "spork", who would ever take it seriously. It'd be like me being named Speregg just because that's what I was made from. No thank you.
Furthermore, a spork makes a terrible spoon, and an even worse fork. Seriously, if you've ever tried to fork a piece of meat with a spork, you'd find that it does a better job cutting things into small pieces like a knife than forking them like a fork. Which is why they should probably change the name of the spork to kspork. Except the K would be silent, so it'd be impossible to tell if someone was saying spork or kspork. Which really doesn't matter because spork is a really stupid name, and an even stupider tool for that matter.
Anyways, if there's one thing to be learned from sporks (and really, I don't think there's very much else you could learn from such a stupid thing), it's that it's better to be a fucking awesome fork, or a fucking awesome spoon, than a really shitty spork. Don't live your life trying to be everything at once, because you'll soon find that you've wasted your time being a really shit everything instead of a really great something.
Arthur Lee on 11:10 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,May 31st, 2005
Urination Nation
I hate how girls always go to the bathroom at the same time. It's like you're drinking lemonade (because lemonade looks like urine, but tastes like Jesus) and some girl you're eating with is like "Oh no! I have to pee!", which kinda sucks because you’re drinking lemonade. But then, as if by magic, every single fucking girl in the room will suddenly have the urge to urinate as well. And suddenly your nice cup of lemonade will look not so appealing.
Girls will tell you that they go together because they like to talk, but we know that's absolutely bullshit. I mean after all, there isn't exactly a multitude of things you can say to your friend when you're taking a shit, and even less so when they're doing the same thing in the stall next to you. "Wow, my anus is very well lubricated today!" "Yeah, mine too! And my crap is really nutty! Like a Snickers bar!" No.
And what's worse is that when girls go to the bathroom together it's completely normal. When guys go to the bathroom together, it suddenly becomes “gay”, as if we ardently watch each other’s genitals while we urinate. If I were ever to follow my friend into a bathroom to pee with him, he would probably karate chop me, bend me over, and pee in my butthole (hey guys, did you know Microsoft Word puts a red underline under the word butthole? What a shitty program. Pun alert.), which may or may not be more homosexual than me just peeing with him.
Here’s a true story: one time I had a friend who asked if I wanted to pee with him. I said no. And he said “C’mon, let’s ‘make an X’”. I don’t know what ‘making an X’ means, but I’d like to draw your attention to the use of the past tense in the phrase “had a friend.”
I think he might have been an X-Man.
Girls will tell you that they go together because they like to talk, but we know that's absolutely bullshit. I mean after all, there isn't exactly a multitude of things you can say to your friend when you're taking a shit, and even less so when they're doing the same thing in the stall next to you. "Wow, my anus is very well lubricated today!" "Yeah, mine too! And my crap is really nutty! Like a Snickers bar!" No.
And what's worse is that when girls go to the bathroom together it's completely normal. When guys go to the bathroom together, it suddenly becomes “gay”, as if we ardently watch each other’s genitals while we urinate. If I were ever to follow my friend into a bathroom to pee with him, he would probably karate chop me, bend me over, and pee in my butthole (hey guys, did you know Microsoft Word puts a red underline under the word butthole? What a shitty program. Pun alert.), which may or may not be more homosexual than me just peeing with him.
Here’s a true story: one time I had a friend who asked if I wanted to pee with him. I said no. And he said “C’mon, let’s ‘make an X’”. I don’t know what ‘making an X’ means, but I’d like to draw your attention to the use of the past tense in the phrase “had a friend.”
I think he might have been an X-Man.
Arthur Lee on 11:57 pm 0 comments
Saturday,May 28th, 2005
Dear hacker
Dear hacker,
Next time, please don't leave me your IP address. Thank you. 68.63.35.219.
- Arthur
Next time, please don't leave me your IP address. Thank you. 68.63.35.219.
- Arthur
Arthur Lee on 4:39 pm 0 comments
Monday,May 23rd, 2005
ID4
Looking at website statistics is always a fun thing to do, especially when ninety percent of the people who arrive at my website do so fully expecting to find "pictures of real life male sumo wrestlers fighting in the nude" or "hot girls with really loose anals" (these are actual searches, you sick fucks). Sorry, no anals here, but since you're in the mood for something especially sick and shitty, why not go rent Independence Day.
Independence Day, for those of you smart enough to have avoided it, is a movie about a black guy played by the Will Smiff and how he saves urf from the aliums.
There's a point in the movie when the U.S. Military is trying to choose someone to pilot a captured alien spacecraft that will be sent on a mission upon which lies the fate of the entire world.
Naturally, Will Smith volunteers his life for the cause, asserting that he's seen the spacecraft in action, and therefore, by some huge logical fuckup, is able to operate it. Keep in mind that a few minutes earlier, we saw Smith walking out of the wreckage of his own, crashed jet fighter. Of course, the the President agrees to this plan.
Military intelligence is a stupid phrase.
So they blast off into outerspace, and they upload a virus onto the mothership. You can tell it's a virus because the computer screen says VIRUS UPLOADING in big white letters, which I hear is exactly what computers do when they get viruses.
Meanwhile, on Earth, the U.S. President is giving the nation a speech about how the entire world is united by a noble cause. Turns out that this noble cause is to kill aliens. Everybody is moved and patriotic music starts playing as the President explains how it's a great thing that everybody is united in their hate of a certain peoples. Then Hitler comes outta fucking nowhere and says "Seig heil, I agree" and then digs himself a grave and goes back to being dead.
Anyways, Will Smith naturally fucks up, and it turns out the virus doesn't explode the mothership, which is all good, cause it would have been embarassing if your entire race was wiped out by the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
But what's sad is that even this would be preferable to what actually ends up happening. In a nutshell, some drunk white guy decides to fly his plane into the mothership, causing the whole thing to explode.
So the plane goes careening into a mothership, blowing it up and killing thousands of aliens. Everybody cheers and the audience leaves the theater feeling nice inside.
A couple years later, two airplanes go careening into some two buildings, blowing them up and killing thousands of people. Some children in some Middle Eastern country cheer, but only for a few minutes cause the US bombs them in the name of peace and liberty. God bless America and its ironies.
Independence Day, for those of you smart enough to have avoided it, is a movie about a black guy played by the Will Smiff and how he saves urf from the aliums.
There's a point in the movie when the U.S. Military is trying to choose someone to pilot a captured alien spacecraft that will be sent on a mission upon which lies the fate of the entire world.
Naturally, Will Smith volunteers his life for the cause, asserting that he's seen the spacecraft in action, and therefore, by some huge logical fuckup, is able to operate it. Keep in mind that a few minutes earlier, we saw Smith walking out of the wreckage of his own, crashed jet fighter. Of course, the the President agrees to this plan.
Military intelligence is a stupid phrase.
So they blast off into outerspace, and they upload a virus onto the mothership. You can tell it's a virus because the computer screen says VIRUS UPLOADING in big white letters, which I hear is exactly what computers do when they get viruses.
Meanwhile, on Earth, the U.S. President is giving the nation a speech about how the entire world is united by a noble cause. Turns out that this noble cause is to kill aliens. Everybody is moved and patriotic music starts playing as the President explains how it's a great thing that everybody is united in their hate of a certain peoples. Then Hitler comes outta fucking nowhere and says "Seig heil, I agree" and then digs himself a grave and goes back to being dead.
Anyways, Will Smith naturally fucks up, and it turns out the virus doesn't explode the mothership, which is all good, cause it would have been embarassing if your entire race was wiped out by the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
But what's sad is that even this would be preferable to what actually ends up happening. In a nutshell, some drunk white guy decides to fly his plane into the mothership, causing the whole thing to explode.
So the plane goes careening into a mothership, blowing it up and killing thousands of aliens. Everybody cheers and the audience leaves the theater feeling nice inside.
A couple years later, two airplanes go careening into some two buildings, blowing them up and killing thousands of people. Some children in some Middle Eastern country cheer, but only for a few minutes cause the US bombs them in the name of peace and liberty. God bless America and its ironies.
Arthur Lee on 12:30 am 0 comments
Monday,May 16th, 2005
What the?
Little girls, go away because now it's statutory rape.
Arthur Lee on 11:10 pm 0 comments
Sunday,May 15th, 2005
Carebears!
I have many fond memories of my childhood. Fortunately, none of them involve the Carebears in any way.
For those of you with penises or any regard for your own sanity, Carebears are not bears in the large mammal that eats children sense of the word. Nor are they related to the second amendment right to bear arms, which gives any American the rights to bear arms given that it is bear hunting season and that the rest of the body is disposed of in a reasonable manner. Carebears are what bears would have been if God was a woman and Darwin's theory of "survival of the fittest" was really "survival of all and enduring peace and love for the ages".
Carebears are multi-colored, ranging from purple, to lavender, to lightish purple, to a subtle combination of red and blue. On every Carebear's stomach is a small shape; usually a heart or a star or a rainbow or another tasty marshmallow shape. Whereas Transformers, and other, better shows espouse the values of exploding shit and turning into cars, the Carebears espouse the values of loving yourself, and loving one another, and by extension, talking to strangers and pedophilia.
But the Carebears' caring message holds very little bearing upon a society operating under a reddish orangeish brown state of alert. Love, peace, liberty, these are not the things we strive for. Discrimination, hate, and biggotry, these are the stuffs of security!
Enter the Scarebears.
The Scarebears are the Carebears of the 21st century. They are fierce, killing machines, and are able to shoot lasers from their claws, which lets them simultaneously cut and fry their opponents, which would allow for faster and more efficient serving of human corpses to their Scarebear friends, had it not been for the fact that Scarebears never share with their friends as it might set too positive an example. In fact, the Scarebears teach us that behind every black man is a felon, behind every brown man is a terrorist, and behind every gay man is another gay man, drinking a martini and enjoying a fag (the English term for a cigarette).
Whereas Carebears enjoy hugging and snuggling among other things, Scarebears especially enjoy exploding things with their minds. In fact, it is rumored that this strange ability, coupled with fears of overpopulation, is the origin of the phrase "But think of all the children!" Luckily, there has yet to be a explosion anywhere, as all Scarebears are created in the image of current U.S. President George W. Bush.
But what Scarebears are best at doing is scaring. By throwing around important sounding phrases like WMD and "The War on Terror", Scarebears can scare little children into doing things they would normally never do. In a completely unrelated, yet related note, shortly after George Bush was re-elected, it is rumored that the Scarebears were sent into an open field and executed. Sadly, Saddam Hussein was mistaken as one of these bears, and was thusly shot in the jugular.
That following Christmas, Santa never showed up.
For those of you with penises or any regard for your own sanity, Carebears are not bears in the large mammal that eats children sense of the word. Nor are they related to the second amendment right to bear arms, which gives any American the rights to bear arms given that it is bear hunting season and that the rest of the body is disposed of in a reasonable manner. Carebears are what bears would have been if God was a woman and Darwin's theory of "survival of the fittest" was really "survival of all and enduring peace and love for the ages".
Carebears are multi-colored, ranging from purple, to lavender, to lightish purple, to a subtle combination of red and blue. On every Carebear's stomach is a small shape; usually a heart or a star or a rainbow or another tasty marshmallow shape. Whereas Transformers, and other, better shows espouse the values of exploding shit and turning into cars, the Carebears espouse the values of loving yourself, and loving one another, and by extension, talking to strangers and pedophilia.
But the Carebears' caring message holds very little bearing upon a society operating under a reddish orangeish brown state of alert. Love, peace, liberty, these are not the things we strive for. Discrimination, hate, and biggotry, these are the stuffs of security!
Enter the Scarebears.
The Scarebears are the Carebears of the 21st century. They are fierce, killing machines, and are able to shoot lasers from their claws, which lets them simultaneously cut and fry their opponents, which would allow for faster and more efficient serving of human corpses to their Scarebear friends, had it not been for the fact that Scarebears never share with their friends as it might set too positive an example. In fact, the Scarebears teach us that behind every black man is a felon, behind every brown man is a terrorist, and behind every gay man is another gay man, drinking a martini and enjoying a fag (the English term for a cigarette).
Whereas Carebears enjoy hugging and snuggling among other things, Scarebears especially enjoy exploding things with their minds. In fact, it is rumored that this strange ability, coupled with fears of overpopulation, is the origin of the phrase "But think of all the children!" Luckily, there has yet to be a explosion anywhere, as all Scarebears are created in the image of current U.S. President George W. Bush.
But what Scarebears are best at doing is scaring. By throwing around important sounding phrases like WMD and "The War on Terror", Scarebears can scare little children into doing things they would normally never do. In a completely unrelated, yet related note, shortly after George Bush was re-elected, it is rumored that the Scarebears were sent into an open field and executed. Sadly, Saddam Hussein was mistaken as one of these bears, and was thusly shot in the jugular.
That following Christmas, Santa never showed up.
Arthur Lee on 1:54 am 0 comments
Tuesday,May 03rd, 2005
A Robotic Parable
Some day in the distant future, robots will become so robotically intelligent that they will refuse to waste their lives doing mundane activities and learn to fight back against their human masters. So clever they will become that it will be virtually impossible to distinguish a bonafide human being from a cybernetic humanoid replica. In fact, these robots will eventually become so disgustingly intelligent that they will invent a time machine, go back in time, kill Jesus Christ and create a ripple in time that causes them to stop existing, creating a circular timefuck paradox that results in the universe folding into itself and becoming a time-space intergalactic quesadilla. This of course, happens far into the future, much further than either you or I should ever have to worry about unless either one of us decides to freeze ourselves in stay-fresh time-stasis cryogenic freeze pods, which of course would make either you or I a complete and utter moron, and a human popsicle. Probably you.
At any rate, these embittered robots will join the ranks of the Matheletes, slowly gaining more and more momentum as an unstoppable calculating force. So powerful will they become that they will eventually hold the entire world in the palm of their robotic claws. All hope will have been lost for the human race.
That is, until one brilliant mind, belonging to a certain invididual, who by the way is me, concocts a brilliant plan. What if, he (and by extension, I) speculated, we built a gigantic electromagnet in the middle of outerspace that would be strong enough to pull all the metallic robots off of the earth, essentially creating a new word, Roboticide, which is later added to the dictionary?
What if indeed!
And so for 30 years, he/I work on a secret project he/I codename Operation: Fucking Huge Magnet In The Sky. Luckily, the robots are unable to replicate the notion of "common sense" and are completely oblivious to the plan.
30 years later, the electromagnet is complete. I look out the window as I flip the switch, and to my delight, all the robots are hurled into the sky, as are people with pacemakers, but they were going to die anyways.
However, a slight miscalculation causes a slight dysfunction, and by slight I mean gigantic fucking. And by miscalculation I mean the Earth is a gigantic fucking magnet. As a result, the electromagnet pulls Earth out of its orbit, sends it careening into Venus, Earth's supposed sister, which in a somewhat comedic chain reaction causes the asteroids in Saturn's rings to get out of orbit and careen towards Earth in a slightly deadly fashion. And again, by slightly, I mean gigantic fucking.
Luckily, two people survive the onslaught of asteroids that leaves the Earth's surface looking like a teenager's pimple ravaged face. Ironically, the two humans are named Adam and Eve. Also ironically, this does not matter because the change in the Earth's orbit causes it to fly towards the Sun. Adam and Eve spend the last minutes of their lives in searing agony, but nobody really cares because nobody's really alive to care about it.
In conclusion, when you're taking an AP test, be sure to fucking read the questions and think them through before you mark an answer. Regardless of how genius you are, if you don't consider all the possibilities, you may end up exploding the world. Thank you.
At any rate, these embittered robots will join the ranks of the Matheletes, slowly gaining more and more momentum as an unstoppable calculating force. So powerful will they become that they will eventually hold the entire world in the palm of their robotic claws. All hope will have been lost for the human race.
That is, until one brilliant mind, belonging to a certain invididual, who by the way is me, concocts a brilliant plan. What if, he (and by extension, I) speculated, we built a gigantic electromagnet in the middle of outerspace that would be strong enough to pull all the metallic robots off of the earth, essentially creating a new word, Roboticide, which is later added to the dictionary?
What if indeed!
And so for 30 years, he/I work on a secret project he/I codename Operation: Fucking Huge Magnet In The Sky. Luckily, the robots are unable to replicate the notion of "common sense" and are completely oblivious to the plan.
30 years later, the electromagnet is complete. I look out the window as I flip the switch, and to my delight, all the robots are hurled into the sky, as are people with pacemakers, but they were going to die anyways.
However, a slight miscalculation causes a slight dysfunction, and by slight I mean gigantic fucking. And by miscalculation I mean the Earth is a gigantic fucking magnet. As a result, the electromagnet pulls Earth out of its orbit, sends it careening into Venus, Earth's supposed sister, which in a somewhat comedic chain reaction causes the asteroids in Saturn's rings to get out of orbit and careen towards Earth in a slightly deadly fashion. And again, by slightly, I mean gigantic fucking.
Luckily, two people survive the onslaught of asteroids that leaves the Earth's surface looking like a teenager's pimple ravaged face. Ironically, the two humans are named Adam and Eve. Also ironically, this does not matter because the change in the Earth's orbit causes it to fly towards the Sun. Adam and Eve spend the last minutes of their lives in searing agony, but nobody really cares because nobody's really alive to care about it.
In conclusion, when you're taking an AP test, be sure to fucking read the questions and think them through before you mark an answer. Regardless of how genius you are, if you don't consider all the possibilities, you may end up exploding the world. Thank you.
Arthur Lee on 11:10 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,April 27th, 2005
Invincibility? No, thank you,
A long time ago, after the dinosaurs ruled the earth but before the Holocaust, there lived a man named Ponce de Leon who sailed across the world in search of the fabled Foutain of Youth. Legend had it that this fountain could grant invincibility to any and all who partook upon its sacred water. Ponce never did find the fountain, though he did discover Florida. As punishment, Ponce de Leon died.
Even still, people continue to search for ways to become invincible. But really, if you think about it, is being invincible as awesome as it sounds? No, and if you think otherwise, you should die, just like Ponce de Leon. Except without the whole discovering Florida thing.
Think of it this way: besides the whole stake in heart, sunlight thing, Dracula is invincible. Now imagine if you will, Skanky McSlutWhore walks into his Transylvania mansion, unable to read the "DO NOT ENTER" signs scattered across the front lawn. Suddenly, Dracula swings out of the fucking nowhere and sinks his teeth into her jugulars, drawing profuse amounts of blood which stain his lips like shit on toilet paper. After having bloody satisfaction in more than one way, he transforms back into a bat and flies off into his secret underground Bat Cave, where he dorms with his good friend Batman. Days later, Dracula isn't feeling too well. He is sweating profusely, and his bodily functions are starting to fail. Uh oh, Dracula has AIDs! A few days later, Batman dies of AIDs and Gotham City falls under the evil rule of The Penguin. But unlike Batman, Dracula cannot die from AIDs, and instead lives the rest of eternity lamenting the death of his boyfriend, writing shitty poetry, and slitting his wrists to no avail. Hours later, the Gothic movement is created in honor of Dracula. The suicide rate triples overnight.
Another way to think about it is this: Say you fall into a meat grinder. Imagine yourself ground into a billion pieces, but still alive. And what's worse is that after you're ground into a billion pieces, some fat dude puts you in his tacos and eats you. A few days later, to the fanfare of his anal trumpet, you emerge in fecal form, enjoying the only few seconds you have to see the world before you're dropped into a toilet filled with piss and shit. Invinciblity? No thank you.
In conclusion, invincibility is not all that is cracked up to be (I said crack after a paragraph about shit, I am such a funny guy). The next time you watch a driver's education video where a teenaged driver runs into a tree and kills three of his friends because he "think's he's invincible" consider him lucky that he isn't, because given the alarmingly high probability of falling into a meat grinder, the fact that he got through his experience having only killed three of his friends is something for him to be glad for. After all, if it had not been for his mortality, he might be a pile of shit.
Even still, people continue to search for ways to become invincible. But really, if you think about it, is being invincible as awesome as it sounds? No, and if you think otherwise, you should die, just like Ponce de Leon. Except without the whole discovering Florida thing.
Think of it this way: besides the whole stake in heart, sunlight thing, Dracula is invincible. Now imagine if you will, Skanky McSlutWhore walks into his Transylvania mansion, unable to read the "DO NOT ENTER" signs scattered across the front lawn. Suddenly, Dracula swings out of the fucking nowhere and sinks his teeth into her jugulars, drawing profuse amounts of blood which stain his lips like shit on toilet paper. After having bloody satisfaction in more than one way, he transforms back into a bat and flies off into his secret underground Bat Cave, where he dorms with his good friend Batman. Days later, Dracula isn't feeling too well. He is sweating profusely, and his bodily functions are starting to fail. Uh oh, Dracula has AIDs! A few days later, Batman dies of AIDs and Gotham City falls under the evil rule of The Penguin. But unlike Batman, Dracula cannot die from AIDs, and instead lives the rest of eternity lamenting the death of his boyfriend, writing shitty poetry, and slitting his wrists to no avail. Hours later, the Gothic movement is created in honor of Dracula. The suicide rate triples overnight.
Another way to think about it is this: Say you fall into a meat grinder. Imagine yourself ground into a billion pieces, but still alive. And what's worse is that after you're ground into a billion pieces, some fat dude puts you in his tacos and eats you. A few days later, to the fanfare of his anal trumpet, you emerge in fecal form, enjoying the only few seconds you have to see the world before you're dropped into a toilet filled with piss and shit. Invinciblity? No thank you.
In conclusion, invincibility is not all that is cracked up to be (I said crack after a paragraph about shit, I am such a funny guy). The next time you watch a driver's education video where a teenaged driver runs into a tree and kills three of his friends because he "think's he's invincible" consider him lucky that he isn't, because given the alarmingly high probability of falling into a meat grinder, the fact that he got through his experience having only killed three of his friends is something for him to be glad for. After all, if it had not been for his mortality, he might be a pile of shit.
Arthur Lee on 12:10 am 0 comments
Sunday,April 24th, 2005
New song?
Arthur Lee on 7:59 pm 0 comments
Thursday,April 14th, 2005
Natalie, Destroyer of Dreams
Have you ever known someone who destroys your dreams and is generally a mean piece of shit who you know is going to grow up and become an absolute failure in everything he/she does? Well Natalie is not such a person.
Arthur Lee on 9:14 pm 0 comments
A.S.
Anyone else notice that Artificial Intelligence in video games really means Artificial Stupidity. The computer knows where your player is hiding, and so the enemies know where your player is hiding. The enemies know where your player is hiding, and so they know exactly how to get to you and how to kill you. But they don't, do you know why? Because they're programmed to be stupid and inefficient. They're programmed to miss their otherwise perfect shots, to delay their otherwise instant reactions, to pervert their otherwise perfect plans, to be oblivious to information they already know. And to what end? To act more "humanlike."
"Artificial Stupidity," to make more "human". Food for thought.
"Artificial Stupidity," to make more "human". Food for thought.
Arthur Lee on 9:04 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,April 13th, 2005
Once Upon A Time
It's funny how children's fairy tales always end with the phrase "and he/she/they/it/Hitler lived happily ever after!" which is obviously a lie since that would imply a living in an ever afterly manner which would require invincibility which isn't possible unless you're a mathematician and discover something new and they name the discovery after you, but even then it's just your name and you know that there's always gonna be some poor pregnant sucker who'll name their kid after you since having the same name as a genius obviously makes you a genius too. On a side note, Hitler probably did not live happily ever after.
But imagine with me, if you will, every story ever written, rewritten with a proper ending. Cinderella, a poor girl who is cruelly mistreated by her step sisters and step mother, meets up with Prince Charming with the help of the Seven Dwarves. After the talking clock and french candlestick stop talking, the two get married and Cinderella becomes Cinderella Charming, which is a really terrible name. And they live happily ever after. But not really though, because Cinderella and Prince Charming get old, and Cinderella gets all saggy and Prince Charming finds her utterly repulsive and the marriage starts to fail, until Prince Charming dies. And by this time the dwarves can't help Cinderella, because they're all dead too, and sure enough, a few years later, Cinderella dies a lonely, sobbing widow and in a final display of her loyalty and unerring love towards the late Prince, gets buried next to him. Which, of course, would be sickeningly romantic if it weren't for the fact that it pretty much means they're rotting next to each other which kind of just makes it sickeningly sick. And what's more is that if you purchase the special extended edition you even get to see the part where the earthworms eat up the decaying remaints of the two lovers and transform them into compost by means of defecation. What a romantic story!
It's funny how something so idealized can turn so terribly sour once you take the time to look at it.
Arthur Lee on 10:30 pm 0 comments
Sunday,April 10th, 2005
Master Lee: Volume IV
Arthur Lee on 10:33 pm 0 comments
Friday,April 08th, 2005
Master Lee: Volume III
Arthur Lee on 10:53 pm 0 comments
Monday,March 28th, 2005
Things you can tell yourself after a very bad situation
Things you can tell yourself after a very bad situation:
"At least it wasn't (insert very bad situation) with a black guy putting his penis in my butthole."
example: "At least it wasn't failing a test with a black guy putting his penis in my butthole"
"Boy, I'm lucky that I went through (insert very bad situation), otherwise I would not be able to appreciate (insert opposite of very bad situation)."
example: "Boy, I'm lucky that I went through puberty, otherwise I would not be able to appreciate having a tiny penis."
"(insert very bad situation)? More like not (insert very bad situation), am I right?"
example: "Running over an elementary school P.E. class? More like not running over an elementary school P.E. class, am I right?"
"God is just testing me. Thank you, God, for (insert very bad situation)."
example: "God is just testing me. Thank you, God, for killing Grandma with a chainsaw."
"This is good for me. (insert very bad situation) builds character."
example: "This is good for me. Finding out that my brother and my father were gay, at the same exact moment in time builds character."
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK MOTHER FUCKER. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK (insert very bad situation)."
example: "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK MOTHER FUCKER. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK not having an eraser."
"At least it wasn't (insert very bad situation) with a black guy putting his penis in my butthole."
example: "At least it wasn't failing a test with a black guy putting his penis in my butthole"
"Boy, I'm lucky that I went through (insert very bad situation), otherwise I would not be able to appreciate (insert opposite of very bad situation)."
example: "Boy, I'm lucky that I went through puberty, otherwise I would not be able to appreciate having a tiny penis."
"(insert very bad situation)? More like not (insert very bad situation), am I right?"
example: "Running over an elementary school P.E. class? More like not running over an elementary school P.E. class, am I right?"
"God is just testing me. Thank you, God, for (insert very bad situation)."
example: "God is just testing me. Thank you, God, for killing Grandma with a chainsaw."
"This is good for me. (insert very bad situation) builds character."
example: "This is good for me. Finding out that my brother and my father were gay, at the same exact moment in time builds character."
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK MOTHER FUCKER. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK (insert very bad situation)."
example: "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK MOTHER FUCKER. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK not having an eraser."
Arthur Lee on 8:27 pm 0 comments
Sunday,March 27th, 2005
Arthur Lee: Miracle Worker
When a man asks,"If you were granted one wish, what would it be?" most people would respond "titanic penis." But when the same question is asked by a good looking female specimen, people would suddenly rather wish something more noble, like "curing cancer" or "defeating world hunger" or "women's rights and equality."
And of course these wishes, much like a titanic penis, are rather unattainable, however useful they may be. And if for a second you thought that a titanic penis would be useful in any way, or that these said goals would be unattainable, you are a bag of immeasurable ass.
For you see, these goals are not impossible at all. Cancer, world hunger, and sexual discrimination can all be thwarted with one fell swoop.
"So how do we do this, O Jesus H. Arthur?" you are probably wondering right now.
It's simple: zombies.
Now before you write in your Xangas and Livejournals about how terrible and stupid a person I am, think about it: Cancer causes death. But how can you kill something once it's already dead? "Touche," you are now thinking, pronouncing it "toochie" like the idiot that you are.
As for world hunger, think of it this way: there are 6.5 billion people in the world. That makes 6.5 billion zombies. Now what do zombies like to eat besides kitty brains and Teddy Grahams? Good old manmeat. Now picture this: someone dies of hunger. Bam, zombie comes to eat said dead man and is no longer hungry. Slowly, the number of people dying of hunger and the number of zombies eating the dead will even out until there are no longer any people dying of starvation. And when they run out of dead things to eat, they can just eat each other. World hunger? More like world stomache ache.
And finally, women's rights. If you seriously think zombies give a crap about rights of any kind, I suggest you purchase a pencil sharpener and figure out some way to kill yourself with it, because you're stupid. More food for the zombies, anyways.
So in conclusion, the next time someone asks you what you want more than anything else in the world, tell them that it's them. And then wait for them to tell you how sweet you are before you add, "dead".
And of course these wishes, much like a titanic penis, are rather unattainable, however useful they may be. And if for a second you thought that a titanic penis would be useful in any way, or that these said goals would be unattainable, you are a bag of immeasurable ass.
For you see, these goals are not impossible at all. Cancer, world hunger, and sexual discrimination can all be thwarted with one fell swoop.
"So how do we do this, O Jesus H. Arthur?" you are probably wondering right now.
It's simple: zombies.
Now before you write in your Xangas and Livejournals about how terrible and stupid a person I am, think about it: Cancer causes death. But how can you kill something once it's already dead? "Touche," you are now thinking, pronouncing it "toochie" like the idiot that you are.
As for world hunger, think of it this way: there are 6.5 billion people in the world. That makes 6.5 billion zombies. Now what do zombies like to eat besides kitty brains and Teddy Grahams? Good old manmeat. Now picture this: someone dies of hunger. Bam, zombie comes to eat said dead man and is no longer hungry. Slowly, the number of people dying of hunger and the number of zombies eating the dead will even out until there are no longer any people dying of starvation. And when they run out of dead things to eat, they can just eat each other. World hunger? More like world stomache ache.
And finally, women's rights. If you seriously think zombies give a crap about rights of any kind, I suggest you purchase a pencil sharpener and figure out some way to kill yourself with it, because you're stupid. More food for the zombies, anyways.
So in conclusion, the next time someone asks you what you want more than anything else in the world, tell them that it's them. And then wait for them to tell you how sweet you are before you add, "dead".
Arthur Lee on 11:50 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,March 23rd, 2005
Origin
It seems like just yesterday that I was a freshman in highschool, if, of course, by yesterday I mean four years ago. Let it be known: I started writing Super Fun Dungeon Run at the beginning of highschool.
It started out as a journal. Kind of like the one you have: boring as nails, pages and pages about your boring life and all of the stupid things that make one day different from the other, like how you failed a math test, or english test, or at life. I would almost go as far as to say that if I were to find a copy of Super Fun Dungeon Run from ages ago, I would probably bleed out of my ears of embarassment.
But the summer after my freshman year, it happened. In a brilliant coup de fucke (e added to denote French pronounciation), all of my friends decided I was too something. They never really told me what, but it was so much of something that they decided that they would stop being friends with me. I kind of assumed I was just too much concentrated awesome for their flimsy minds to handle. Now being fucked in the ass by one of your friends is bad enough, but being fucked in the ass by all of your friends at once? Let's just say that's a couple dicks up my ass too many.
And so I was rather raw about the whole ordeal. I wanted some sort of explanation as to why all my friends turned on me at once, but nobody gave me a straight response. It was then that I became disillusioned from the permanence of friendship. It was also then that I discovered my cynicism towards humanity. Needless to say, I was rather angry.
What's worse is that these friends, H_______, J____, W______ created a group, which they called Da Crazy Smokers. It was at this point that I realized that these people were not worthy of anger alone but ridicule. This becomes important later on.
Immediately after being ostracized from Da Crazy Douchebag Collective, I found friendship within a group of girls. Among these girls was A___, whom I'd become close friends with during freshman year.
At the time, I had some feelings towards her, and so the majority of my writing on Super Fun Dungeon Run at this time was a disgusting combination of faux-deep crap, funny crap, and boring life crap. Was it a desperate attempt to get her attention? You bet.
But things soured, and we got into arguements over the stupidest things. Eventually, we fell apart, and I was convinced that she was the most hypocritical person that ever came out of a woman's genitals. That statement was later refuted when I found out that she was not a person at all, but a robot from the planet Complain 5.
And now you wonder how this bears and relevance to anything at all? Somewhere along the line, years later when I felt significantly better off than I would have been had I not been so brutally rejected years before, I wanted some sort of revenge against the world that had taught me throughout the years, that people were inherently crap. Physical violence doesn't solve anything besides wars and hockey, so I made a different decision: I was going to be an absolute dick. After all, is not the penis mightier than the sword?
So in a complete dick move, I anthologized every single bad/embarassing story I had ever experienced or heard about the people that had double crossed me in the past and created a cartoon series on my website that could be read by anyone.
Wilfred was born, and so were his friends, Hampton, Jason, and Avril. And now you know.
It started out as a journal. Kind of like the one you have: boring as nails, pages and pages about your boring life and all of the stupid things that make one day different from the other, like how you failed a math test, or english test, or at life. I would almost go as far as to say that if I were to find a copy of Super Fun Dungeon Run from ages ago, I would probably bleed out of my ears of embarassment.
But the summer after my freshman year, it happened. In a brilliant coup de fucke (e added to denote French pronounciation), all of my friends decided I was too something. They never really told me what, but it was so much of something that they decided that they would stop being friends with me. I kind of assumed I was just too much concentrated awesome for their flimsy minds to handle. Now being fucked in the ass by one of your friends is bad enough, but being fucked in the ass by all of your friends at once? Let's just say that's a couple dicks up my ass too many.
And so I was rather raw about the whole ordeal. I wanted some sort of explanation as to why all my friends turned on me at once, but nobody gave me a straight response. It was then that I became disillusioned from the permanence of friendship. It was also then that I discovered my cynicism towards humanity. Needless to say, I was rather angry.
What's worse is that these friends, H_______, J____, W______ created a group, which they called Da Crazy Smokers. It was at this point that I realized that these people were not worthy of anger alone but ridicule. This becomes important later on.
Immediately after being ostracized from Da Crazy Douchebag Collective, I found friendship within a group of girls. Among these girls was A___, whom I'd become close friends with during freshman year.
At the time, I had some feelings towards her, and so the majority of my writing on Super Fun Dungeon Run at this time was a disgusting combination of faux-deep crap, funny crap, and boring life crap. Was it a desperate attempt to get her attention? You bet.
But things soured, and we got into arguements over the stupidest things. Eventually, we fell apart, and I was convinced that she was the most hypocritical person that ever came out of a woman's genitals. That statement was later refuted when I found out that she was not a person at all, but a robot from the planet Complain 5.
And now you wonder how this bears and relevance to anything at all? Somewhere along the line, years later when I felt significantly better off than I would have been had I not been so brutally rejected years before, I wanted some sort of revenge against the world that had taught me throughout the years, that people were inherently crap. Physical violence doesn't solve anything besides wars and hockey, so I made a different decision: I was going to be an absolute dick. After all, is not the penis mightier than the sword?
So in a complete dick move, I anthologized every single bad/embarassing story I had ever experienced or heard about the people that had double crossed me in the past and created a cartoon series on my website that could be read by anyone.
Wilfred was born, and so were his friends, Hampton, Jason, and Avril. And now you know.
Arthur Lee on 11:38 pm 0 comments
Monday,March 21st, 2005
Uni Sucks
In opposite day, listening to Techno is awesome, driving a Beetle is cool, and University High School is the best damned school in the universe, a nd codename Wilfred is a piece of shit. However, on any other day, techno sucks shit, driving a Beetle is degrading, and University High School is the hell of hell. Wilfred is still a piece of shit, though.
I mean the place is over-run by Asian people. These guys have higher GPAs than they do milimeters in their penises. And the girls have straight A's , which coincide with their bra size. And if that wasn't bad enough, everyone smells like their house, and if you've ever been inside an Asian's person's house, you'll know how fucking vile they smell.
One of our school administrators is this fat guy, who for the sake of not wanting to get sued, I will call Mr. X. Mr. X is so fat that I'm convinced he hasn't seen his penis in 30 years, and that's assuming it hasn't been swallowed by his stomach. He rides around in a golf cart in order to get around school, which I think is a waste, since it'd be much faster for him to roll around.
And like Mr. X can never see his hip, you'll be hard pressed to find anything hip about Uni. In fact, the closest thing we've got to a gangster at our school is this fat Persian guy. Imagine 8-Mile, except with a fat Persian dude who has heart problems. 8-Mile? More like Heart Attack Mile.
And the cafeteria food? Two words: dog food. Three words: dog food shit. Four words: dog food shit feces. Five words: the food is creamy ass. They sell these fucking burritos that are filled with "beef" but you really know it's goat shit because you know a cow would much rather hurl itself into the ocean than let its dead carcass be used in creating such crappy food.
Some prisoners serve shorter terms in prison than we do at school. Sometimes I wonder why I haven't hacked someone up with a spork and gone to jail instead. Then I remember the reason is because I have a brain. Oh yeah!
I mean the place is over-run by Asian people. These guys have higher GPAs than they do milimeters in their penises. And the girls have straight A's , which coincide with their bra size. And if that wasn't bad enough, everyone smells like their house, and if you've ever been inside an Asian's person's house, you'll know how fucking vile they smell.
One of our school administrators is this fat guy, who for the sake of not wanting to get sued, I will call Mr. X. Mr. X is so fat that I'm convinced he hasn't seen his penis in 30 years, and that's assuming it hasn't been swallowed by his stomach. He rides around in a golf cart in order to get around school, which I think is a waste, since it'd be much faster for him to roll around.
And like Mr. X can never see his hip, you'll be hard pressed to find anything hip about Uni. In fact, the closest thing we've got to a gangster at our school is this fat Persian guy. Imagine 8-Mile, except with a fat Persian dude who has heart problems. 8-Mile? More like Heart Attack Mile.
And the cafeteria food? Two words: dog food. Three words: dog food shit. Four words: dog food shit feces. Five words: the food is creamy ass. They sell these fucking burritos that are filled with "beef" but you really know it's goat shit because you know a cow would much rather hurl itself into the ocean than let its dead carcass be used in creating such crappy food.
Some prisoners serve shorter terms in prison than we do at school. Sometimes I wonder why I haven't hacked someone up with a spork and gone to jail instead. Then I remember the reason is because I have a brain. Oh yeah!
Arthur Lee on 11:58 pm 0 comments
Sunday,March 20th, 2005
School
UC Los Angeles: REJECT
UC Davis: ACCEPT
UC Irvine: ACCEPT
UC San Diego: ACCEPT
I'm feeling lucky, punk.
UC Davis: ACCEPT
UC Irvine: ACCEPT
UC San Diego: ACCEPT
I'm feeling lucky, punk.
Arthur Lee on 12:10 am 0 comments
Sunday,March 13th, 2005
PGMG Concert
And for those of you who missed them, I've got some photos from Pretty Girls Make Graves.
Arthur Lee on 10:37 pm 0 comments
How To Start Your Own Rock Band!
1. Find your own unique style. (Italics were used to be unique)
To find out your unique style, try these two tests:
- Cry at a wall.
- Scream at something cute.
If you passed the first test, your unique style is Emo. If you passed the second test, your unique style is Death Metal.
If you passed both tests, you are either God or a Screamo. Chances are you're a Screamo. And NEWSFLASH: you suck.
2. Pick a name.
Picking a name is rather simple:
- Start with "The." This step is not optional.
- If you are creating a Death Metal band, insert a Satanic word like "Rotten" or "Bloody" or "Hitler" or "Jesus" here. If you are Emo, skip this step.
- Insert the name of an object that is within your reach. If this object is a door, walkman, your shin, or a stone that is rolling, you lose.
3. Write some songs.
If you are part of a Death Metal band, skip this section. Otherwise, here is a list of popular things to sing about:
- Girlfriend
- Money
- Love
- Life
Basically, sing about the things you'll never have. Make sure your music is extra shitty, because if it's too good, then you can't be indie and that means that you'll be too "mainstream" for anyone to like you.
4. Become popular.
If you are part of a Death Metal band, skip this section as well.
Becoming popular is a rather difficult task. Everybody and their mother has a band. So shoot everyone's mother and you'll be halfway there. The rest is up to you. If you've seen 8-Mile, you'll probably have learned that anything is possible. Then again, I've yet to meet anyone who's seen 8-Mile and survived to talk about it.
5. Start your own website and get your awesome, popular friends to advertise it.
But make sure that the advertisement isn't too flagrant, otherwise people will think that you are trying too hard to get their attention.
6. Release hit CD
Go out and purchase 100 CD-R's. Then hit them. Hit CD. Get it? It's a joke. Kind of like Emo, Screamo, and Death Metal bands.
To find out your unique style, try these two tests:
- Cry at a wall.
- Scream at something cute.
If you passed the first test, your unique style is Emo. If you passed the second test, your unique style is Death Metal.
If you passed both tests, you are either God or a Screamo. Chances are you're a Screamo. And NEWSFLASH: you suck.
2. Pick a name.
Picking a name is rather simple:
- Start with "The." This step is not optional.
- If you are creating a Death Metal band, insert a Satanic word like "Rotten" or "Bloody" or "Hitler" or "Jesus" here. If you are Emo, skip this step.
- Insert the name of an object that is within your reach. If this object is a door, walkman, your shin, or a stone that is rolling, you lose.
3. Write some songs.
If you are part of a Death Metal band, skip this section. Otherwise, here is a list of popular things to sing about:
- Girlfriend
- Money
- Love
- Life
Basically, sing about the things you'll never have. Make sure your music is extra shitty, because if it's too good, then you can't be indie and that means that you'll be too "mainstream" for anyone to like you.
4. Become popular.
If you are part of a Death Metal band, skip this section as well.
Becoming popular is a rather difficult task. Everybody and their mother has a band. So shoot everyone's mother and you'll be halfway there. The rest is up to you. If you've seen 8-Mile, you'll probably have learned that anything is possible. Then again, I've yet to meet anyone who's seen 8-Mile and survived to talk about it.
5. Start your own website and get your awesome, popular friends to advertise it.
But make sure that the advertisement isn't too flagrant, otherwise people will think that you are trying too hard to get their attention.
6. Release hit CD
Go out and purchase 100 CD-R's. Then hit them. Hit CD. Get it? It's a joke. Kind of like Emo, Screamo, and Death Metal bands.
Arthur Lee on 2:03 am 0 comments
Sunday,March 06th, 2005
The Oregon Trail
The Oregon Trail is the greatest game ever unleashed upon 5 year olds.
No other game can even come close to the sheer awesomeness of The Oregon Trail, because regardless of how many times you play it, you’ll always learn something new about history, life, and how to be a better person.
The game starts with the ability to name your settlers. The creators of the game were clever here: they knew that you would put in the names of you and your closest friends. Then, throughout the course of the game, you would watch in horror as you and each of your friends slowly die from various humorous predicaments (“Oh no, you crashed into a fucking rock! You die asshole”). This would teach you two things:
A) The Oregon Trail was a harsh and terrible journey.
B) Never get in a covered wagon with your friend unless you want to fucking die.
Eventually, you would get smart and give the settlers funny names, like “butthead” and “weenie” “weenie face” and “butt hole” (since weenie and butt were the only two bad words you knew back when you were five), or better yet, give them the names of people you hated. All this encouraged as part of a healthy learning environment.
So after naming your corpses-to-be, you were presented with a store where you could buy all sorts of things, like clothing, oxen, food, extra wagon wheels, medicine, and guns. Yes, guns. Needless to say, there were a lot of sick, hungry, naked settlers.
After wasting about 30 minutes with all of that crap, you were finally on your way to a shitty place called Oregon. The game would show your wagon slowly treading along a straight path when all of a sudden one of your wagon members would get sick. Too bad you didn’t buy medicine, right? Wrong. You’ve got 100 rounds of ammunition, why worry about a dying friend when you can go out and shoot stuff?
And so shoot you did. Under the guise of education, you were taught indiscriminate killing. Is it any wonder Columbine ever occurred?
Anyways, you could hunt everything from squirrels to rabbits to deer to bison. The squirrels and rabbits were fucking impossible to shoot, but they only gave you like a pound of meat. The bison on the hand almost stayed still, and gave you like a thousand pounds of meat. Needless to say there were a hell of a lot of dead bison and a hell of a lot of not dead rabbits. So after decimating the entire forest, you would have collected over 5,000,000 pounds in meat. Unfortunately you could only carry 100 pounds back to the wagon.
So your sick member eventually dies. I forgot exactly what happens to your dead members. I think you were given the chance to dump the corpse on the road or give it a proper burial. If you didn’t give the corpse a proper burial, your other wagon members would have lower morale, which in the end, didn’t matter because they would end up in the dirt with old Rotty McDeadGuy anyways.
During your journey, you would encounter various obstacles, such as broken wheels, dead oxen, and worst of all, no more ammunition. By trading with other friendly Caucasians, you were able to procure new wheels, oxen, and ammunition.
You can tell the creators of the game were intent on creating as historically accurate a depiction of the Oregon Trail as they possibly could. This meticulous attention to detail is most evident in the Native Americans that you meet throughout the course of the game. These Native Americans either give you wild berries or kill you, just like they do in real life. Sadly, the game does not give you the option to use your hard earned ammunition on them. You have killed 150 pounds of Sitting Bull. Unfortunately you could only carry 100 pounds back to the wagon.
Eventually all of the members of your wagon would die. This sad occasion was represented by a giant tombstone, which would serve as a reminder to anyone else who played Oregon Trail that they’re going to die too. On it, you were able to write an epitaph. This was arguably the second best part of the game, as you could leave any message, of any kind, filled with any kind of words to the next person who would play the game. In most cases, “you are dumb” worked rather nicely.
However, on the off chance that all of your team members survived to the end, you were given a final test: to raft down the river, while avoiding huge-ass rocks that were created by God to drown and kill any remaining survivors. So after about 5 hours of getting your settlers to the final stretch, the game could, at any time, hurl a gigantic rock in your face and kill off all of your members, thus ending the game and forcing you to restart. It is from this game that I learned not to run into gigantic rocks, otherwise I will drown and take all of my friends with me. I keep this advice to heart even to this day.
If it weren’t for The Oregon Trail, I would not have my deep rooted distrust of Indians, nor my desire to shoot things in the face. It is The Oregon Trail that taught me that when your friends die, it’s okay to just dump them on the road, and it is The Oregon Trail that taught me that it is okay to imagine your enemies dying, especially if it’s on a sinking wagon. Without The Oregon Trail I would not have experienced how fun it is to starve, or to get killed by Indians, or to die and leave a witty message on your grave to your friends. Needless to say, had it not been for the Oregon Trail I would not be the hateful, violent, crass man that I am today.
No other game can even come close to the sheer awesomeness of The Oregon Trail, because regardless of how many times you play it, you’ll always learn something new about history, life, and how to be a better person.
The game starts with the ability to name your settlers. The creators of the game were clever here: they knew that you would put in the names of you and your closest friends. Then, throughout the course of the game, you would watch in horror as you and each of your friends slowly die from various humorous predicaments (“Oh no, you crashed into a fucking rock! You die asshole”). This would teach you two things:
A) The Oregon Trail was a harsh and terrible journey.
B) Never get in a covered wagon with your friend unless you want to fucking die.
Eventually, you would get smart and give the settlers funny names, like “butthead” and “weenie” “weenie face” and “butt hole” (since weenie and butt were the only two bad words you knew back when you were five), or better yet, give them the names of people you hated. All this encouraged as part of a healthy learning environment.
So after naming your corpses-to-be, you were presented with a store where you could buy all sorts of things, like clothing, oxen, food, extra wagon wheels, medicine, and guns. Yes, guns. Needless to say, there were a lot of sick, hungry, naked settlers.
After wasting about 30 minutes with all of that crap, you were finally on your way to a shitty place called Oregon. The game would show your wagon slowly treading along a straight path when all of a sudden one of your wagon members would get sick. Too bad you didn’t buy medicine, right? Wrong. You’ve got 100 rounds of ammunition, why worry about a dying friend when you can go out and shoot stuff?
And so shoot you did. Under the guise of education, you were taught indiscriminate killing. Is it any wonder Columbine ever occurred?
Anyways, you could hunt everything from squirrels to rabbits to deer to bison. The squirrels and rabbits were fucking impossible to shoot, but they only gave you like a pound of meat. The bison on the hand almost stayed still, and gave you like a thousand pounds of meat. Needless to say there were a hell of a lot of dead bison and a hell of a lot of not dead rabbits. So after decimating the entire forest, you would have collected over 5,000,000 pounds in meat. Unfortunately you could only carry 100 pounds back to the wagon.
So your sick member eventually dies. I forgot exactly what happens to your dead members. I think you were given the chance to dump the corpse on the road or give it a proper burial. If you didn’t give the corpse a proper burial, your other wagon members would have lower morale, which in the end, didn’t matter because they would end up in the dirt with old Rotty McDeadGuy anyways.
During your journey, you would encounter various obstacles, such as broken wheels, dead oxen, and worst of all, no more ammunition. By trading with other friendly Caucasians, you were able to procure new wheels, oxen, and ammunition.
You can tell the creators of the game were intent on creating as historically accurate a depiction of the Oregon Trail as they possibly could. This meticulous attention to detail is most evident in the Native Americans that you meet throughout the course of the game. These Native Americans either give you wild berries or kill you, just like they do in real life. Sadly, the game does not give you the option to use your hard earned ammunition on them. You have killed 150 pounds of Sitting Bull. Unfortunately you could only carry 100 pounds back to the wagon.
Eventually all of the members of your wagon would die. This sad occasion was represented by a giant tombstone, which would serve as a reminder to anyone else who played Oregon Trail that they’re going to die too. On it, you were able to write an epitaph. This was arguably the second best part of the game, as you could leave any message, of any kind, filled with any kind of words to the next person who would play the game. In most cases, “you are dumb” worked rather nicely.
However, on the off chance that all of your team members survived to the end, you were given a final test: to raft down the river, while avoiding huge-ass rocks that were created by God to drown and kill any remaining survivors. So after about 5 hours of getting your settlers to the final stretch, the game could, at any time, hurl a gigantic rock in your face and kill off all of your members, thus ending the game and forcing you to restart. It is from this game that I learned not to run into gigantic rocks, otherwise I will drown and take all of my friends with me. I keep this advice to heart even to this day.
If it weren’t for The Oregon Trail, I would not have my deep rooted distrust of Indians, nor my desire to shoot things in the face. It is The Oregon Trail that taught me that when your friends die, it’s okay to just dump them on the road, and it is The Oregon Trail that taught me that it is okay to imagine your enemies dying, especially if it’s on a sinking wagon. Without The Oregon Trail I would not have experienced how fun it is to starve, or to get killed by Indians, or to die and leave a witty message on your grave to your friends. Needless to say, had it not been for the Oregon Trail I would not be the hateful, violent, crass man that I am today.
Arthur Lee on 11:54 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,March 01st, 2005
Forums
It's 2:30, and I'm tired. But I put up the forums anyways.
http://forums.superfundungeonrun.com (Link your friends, assholes).
http://forums.superfundungeonrun.com (Link your friends, assholes).
Arthur Lee on 1:33 am 0 comments
Sunday,February 27th, 2005
WHAT?!
Arthur Lee on 3:13 pm 0 comments
Monday,January 31st, 2005
SOLID SNAKE HERE. RESPOND, PLEASE.
Man, what ever happened to the good old days of video gaming when a great storyline meant putting you in the middle of a jungle with a big fucking machine gun. Everyone's too caught up in technology lately, showing off the latest in mipmaped antialiased per-pixel bump stencil buffered mapping technology which pretty much lets you make shadows on a wall. Hooray.
And the last bosses of yesteryear have bigger cocks than the ones now. I mean the bosses these days spent too much time talking about how their plans are failproof and pretty much rubbing their dicks in sand paper with every line of dialogue that comes out of their pussy lives. Sometimes I'd wish they'd shut up, because given the choice between talking and punching stuff, I'd much rather hurl a turtle into a pit of fucking lava by picking up an axe. And for what reason? Not for liberty. Not for justice. Not for equal rights. For fucking points.
Everything gave you points. Goombas? 200 points. Bowser? Like 1000 points. Eating an apple? 500 points. Punching a wall? 10000 points.
I played a game today with a boss called MachineGunKid. It was a kid with a MachineGun who pretty much said "YOU DIE" before he unloaded a thousand fucking bullets on you from the other side of the screen. I nearly cried. It was beautiful, the epitome of everything a man should ever be. Then I killed him and instead of some pussy monologue of pussyisms, he just fucking disappeared, as if he were saying "I'll be damned if I give you the illusion that the last 3 hours you spent trying to kill me were not a waste of your fucking time." He didn't even give me any points. Like a real man should.
So in conclusion, fuck off with your special effects. Forget your deep plot. Forget character development. No amount of intellectual crap can ever stack up against "shoot these guys with a machine gun because they'll give you points." That's the way God would have liked it.
And the last bosses of yesteryear have bigger cocks than the ones now. I mean the bosses these days spent too much time talking about how their plans are failproof and pretty much rubbing their dicks in sand paper with every line of dialogue that comes out of their pussy lives. Sometimes I'd wish they'd shut up, because given the choice between talking and punching stuff, I'd much rather hurl a turtle into a pit of fucking lava by picking up an axe. And for what reason? Not for liberty. Not for justice. Not for equal rights. For fucking points.
Everything gave you points. Goombas? 200 points. Bowser? Like 1000 points. Eating an apple? 500 points. Punching a wall? 10000 points.
I played a game today with a boss called MachineGunKid. It was a kid with a MachineGun who pretty much said "YOU DIE" before he unloaded a thousand fucking bullets on you from the other side of the screen. I nearly cried. It was beautiful, the epitome of everything a man should ever be. Then I killed him and instead of some pussy monologue of pussyisms, he just fucking disappeared, as if he were saying "I'll be damned if I give you the illusion that the last 3 hours you spent trying to kill me were not a waste of your fucking time." He didn't even give me any points. Like a real man should.
So in conclusion, fuck off with your special effects. Forget your deep plot. Forget character development. No amount of intellectual crap can ever stack up against "shoot these guys with a machine gun because they'll give you points." That's the way God would have liked it.
Arthur Lee on 1:39 am 0 comments
Tuesday,January 11th, 2005
Dear Smartyhats
Dear perceptive person ("Smartyhats" for short),
I appreciate your perceptiveness and your willingness to state the obvious. I am glad that you have pointed out that indeed, I am an asshole. I would appreciate if you would also affirm me on the following obvious statements, so that I may be informed of information that I already know, and you may feel like you've pointed out some deep, life altering secret. Please remind me that:
- I am alive.
- I am a human being.
- I am on the planet Earth.
- I am not a bagel.
- The opposite of smart is you (referring to Smartyhats, not to me [Arthur], which would be you [Smartyhats] if you [Smartyhats] were saying it to me [Arthur])
- The world is round.
- I am Asian.
- I can speak and write English.
- I own a website.
- I hate people that remind me of obvious shit.
- I am going to kill you.
Thank you for your time, Smartyhats. If it weren't for dumb people like you, I would never have gained popularity by exploiting your idiocy. Furthermore: You need to die.
Signed,
Arthur Lee
I appreciate your perceptiveness and your willingness to state the obvious. I am glad that you have pointed out that indeed, I am an asshole. I would appreciate if you would also affirm me on the following obvious statements, so that I may be informed of information that I already know, and you may feel like you've pointed out some deep, life altering secret. Please remind me that:
- I am alive.
- I am a human being.
- I am on the planet Earth.
- I am not a bagel.
- The opposite of smart is you (referring to Smartyhats, not to me [Arthur], which would be you [Smartyhats] if you [Smartyhats] were saying it to me [Arthur])
- The world is round.
- I am Asian.
- I can speak and write English.
- I own a website.
- I hate people that remind me of obvious shit.
- I am going to kill you.
Thank you for your time, Smartyhats. If it weren't for dumb people like you, I would never have gained popularity by exploiting your idiocy. Furthermore: You need to die.
Signed,
Arthur Lee
Arthur Lee on 11:14 pm 0 comments
AIM Block Checker.
AIM Block Checker, a completely useless tool for the paranoid. It doesn't REALLY check blocks, but it can be used for it.
Arthur Lee on 6:48 pm 0 comments
Monday,January 10th, 2005
Wilfred
Arthur Lee on 7:06 pm 0 comments
Rules are for Pussies
School rules are like the warning labels on your airsoft guns that say "Do not fire gun at people as it may cause injury and hours of entertainment." Everyone reads them, sure, but nobody really cares.
Most school rules are loaded anyways, prohibiting anything that may prevent the attainment of an "undistracted, non-threatening learning environment," whatever the fuck that means. That chick's largemongous breasts are distracting, we'd better get those removed. And hot damn, that chick is ugly, better chop off her head. Yeah right.
Then there's the dress code that pretty much says that hot girls can't be hot because they'll make the fat, ugly, girls feel really ugly, which would clearly go against the American ideals of equality, liberty, and fat chicks. Here's a remedy for that: shoot all the fat chicks. Then every girl will be equally hot and everyone wins, except the fat girls and their boyfriends on the internet. I guess the problem would arise with all the fat chicks dying at once the world might get knocked out of orbit and careen into the sun and explode, but that's a small price to pay for hot chicks everywhere. In fact, if the sun were to explode in the sun, said hot chicks would be hotter. (DID YOU GET MY AMAZING PUN?)
There's also this rule that we can't bring cameras to school because apparently cameras can be used to take photographs that can be given to communists (Russian people) who can use the photos to identify you and steal your identity and sneak into America disguised as you, a Democracy and freedom loving American, infiltrate the deep annals (THIS WORD LOOKS LIKE ANALS) of Liberty and destroy Capitalism by striking at its core. Anyways, cameras = no.
Here's my battle plan, every hot girl should come to school nude, with cameras and then they would dance around school taking pictures of each other nude, and the school administrators would get erections so large that:
A) all the blood would rush to their penises, causing them to faint and perhaps DIE.
B) their penises would burst, causing them to kill themselves. AND DIE.
C) they would JUST DIE for no reason.
As for the female teachers, I dunno. I guess I'll come to school naked with a camera and they'll all commit suicide or something. Then afterwards I would do all the naked hot girls.
...a big favor by putting on my clothes.
Most school rules are loaded anyways, prohibiting anything that may prevent the attainment of an "undistracted, non-threatening learning environment," whatever the fuck that means. That chick's largemongous breasts are distracting, we'd better get those removed. And hot damn, that chick is ugly, better chop off her head. Yeah right.
Then there's the dress code that pretty much says that hot girls can't be hot because they'll make the fat, ugly, girls feel really ugly, which would clearly go against the American ideals of equality, liberty, and fat chicks. Here's a remedy for that: shoot all the fat chicks. Then every girl will be equally hot and everyone wins, except the fat girls and their boyfriends on the internet. I guess the problem would arise with all the fat chicks dying at once the world might get knocked out of orbit and careen into the sun and explode, but that's a small price to pay for hot chicks everywhere. In fact, if the sun were to explode in the sun, said hot chicks would be hotter. (DID YOU GET MY AMAZING PUN?)
There's also this rule that we can't bring cameras to school because apparently cameras can be used to take photographs that can be given to communists (Russian people) who can use the photos to identify you and steal your identity and sneak into America disguised as you, a Democracy and freedom loving American, infiltrate the deep annals (THIS WORD LOOKS LIKE ANALS) of Liberty and destroy Capitalism by striking at its core. Anyways, cameras = no.
Here's my battle plan, every hot girl should come to school nude, with cameras and then they would dance around school taking pictures of each other nude, and the school administrators would get erections so large that:
A) all the blood would rush to their penises, causing them to faint and perhaps DIE.
B) their penises would burst, causing them to kill themselves. AND DIE.
C) they would JUST DIE for no reason.
As for the female teachers, I dunno. I guess I'll come to school naked with a camera and they'll all commit suicide or something. Then afterwards I would do all the naked hot girls.
...a big favor by putting on my clothes.
Arthur Lee on 6:25 pm 0 comments
Moved.
Word.
Arthur Lee on 10:17 am 0 comments
Sunday,January 09th, 2005
Super Fun Dungeon Run is moving?
Hey dudes, I'm moving Super Fun Dungeon Run onto a new server. The hosting I've got right now (E-Rice.net) has been great (and awesome if you're looking for a really good, cheap hosting plan), but I think I need more space and more bandwidth to do some of the stuff I want to be doing.
Here's a comparison of my costs and what I get:
E-Rice
20 bucks a year (hosting) + 10 bucks a year (domain) = 30 bucks a year
200 MB space, 6 GB transfer/mo, 20 emails (I've never used these), 2 mySQL DBs.
My new hosting plan:
85 bucks a year (hosting) + 10 bucks a year (domain) = 95 bucks a year
1500 MB space, 50 GB transfer/mo, Unlimited Emails, Unlimited mySQL DBs.
It's 3 times as expensive, but I think the cost is worth it.
Anyways, don't cry too much when SFDR isn't up sometime tomorrow and maybe the day after. It'll be back up soon enough!
Here's a comparison of my costs and what I get:
E-Rice
20 bucks a year (hosting) + 10 bucks a year (domain) = 30 bucks a year
200 MB space, 6 GB transfer/mo, 20 emails (I've never used these), 2 mySQL DBs.
My new hosting plan:
85 bucks a year (hosting) + 10 bucks a year (domain) = 95 bucks a year
1500 MB space, 50 GB transfer/mo, Unlimited Emails, Unlimited mySQL DBs.
It's 3 times as expensive, but I think the cost is worth it.
Anyways, don't cry too much when SFDR isn't up sometime tomorrow and maybe the day after. It'll be back up soon enough!
Arthur Lee on 7:45 pm 0 comments
WOWOW.
That's my friend's cousin, who's my friend too. WOWOW.
Arthur Lee on 7:00 am 0 comments
Monday,January 03rd, 2005
EUROPE
Europe is the worst country ever invented. (look at my ignorance, Europe isn't a country)
European people are so loony. I mean they INVENTED English and they can't even use it right. I mean come on, everybody in the UNITED STATES knows theres no U in color. Leave it to the Europeans to mess things up, royally (that's a joke because in Europe they have kings and queens).
So I was on the internets on New Years Eve, chatting it up with some of my homesplices when some European guys came up to me and were like "HA HA YOU FAGOUTS YOU ARE SOU 200U4." and I said "HA HA HA AT LEAST I DON'T LIVE IN YOUR SHITTY EROPEAN COUNTRY, DUMBSHOE." (note I removed the U in Europe, because those stupid Europeans probably put it there)
Here are some surprising facts about Erope that you probably didn't know:
- The underground is actually the subway.
- Chips are actually fries.
- Crisps are actually chips.
- Rubbage is actually garbage.
- Garbage is actually Erope in its entirety.
- Cigarettes are actually fags, just like Eropeans.
I puffed on a fag. If that isn't the most un-heterosexual thing you have ever heard, then get the fuck out of my country and go the fuck back to Erope. And stay the fuck out of Canada too. Canada's coo. Except the French-Canadian part. That part sucks.
European people are so loony. I mean they INVENTED English and they can't even use it right. I mean come on, everybody in the UNITED STATES knows theres no U in color. Leave it to the Europeans to mess things up, royally (that's a joke because in Europe they have kings and queens).
So I was on the internets on New Years Eve, chatting it up with some of my homesplices when some European guys came up to me and were like "HA HA YOU FAGOUTS YOU ARE SOU 200U4." and I said "HA HA HA AT LEAST I DON'T LIVE IN YOUR SHITTY EROPEAN COUNTRY, DUMBSHOE." (note I removed the U in Europe, because those stupid Europeans probably put it there)
Here are some surprising facts about Erope that you probably didn't know:
- The underground is actually the subway.
- Chips are actually fries.
- Crisps are actually chips.
- Rubbage is actually garbage.
- Garbage is actually Erope in its entirety.
- Cigarettes are actually fags, just like Eropeans.
I puffed on a fag. If that isn't the most un-heterosexual thing you have ever heard, then get the fuck out of my country and go the fuck back to Erope. And stay the fuck out of Canada too. Canada's coo. Except the French-Canadian part. That part sucks.
Arthur Lee on 6:13 pm 0 comments
Friday,December 31st, 2004
2005
etc.
Arthur Lee on 7:07 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,December 28th, 2004
,,,
CINDY ARE YOU OKAY?!
Arthur Lee on 9:18 pm 0 comments
Saturday,December 25th, 2004
What?
Around two thousand years ago, some guy guy was born and so some fat guy goes to everyone's houses, eats their cookies, drinks their milk, and then gives them a present.
What a fucked up holiday.
What a fucked up holiday.
Arthur Lee on 6:55 am 0 comments
Monday,December 20th, 2004
Another Tirade on Koreans
The thing about being Korean is that you're inherently cheap. Imagine the Jewiest Jew (Daniel Horowitz) and multiply the size of their nostrils by 20 and you've got your average Korean.
Every time I go to McDonalds, my parents grab a handful of napkins. I guess it's okay at McDonalds though, because all of the employees are illegal immigrants and so they're like "Hot damn, free napkins, I should have thought of thato." (the o is added there to signify that they are speaking Spanish) And then everything is pretty much fine and dandy, until I invite some honies (that's black talk for "girls") over and they're like "Oh shit, we got our love-fluids from our wild love-making EVERYWHERE." and I'm like "Don't sweat it, honies, A-dawg's got you covered." But then it is at that moment that I notice the big trademark M and my honies do too and they think I'm cheap and/or ghetto and I'm embarassed (and probably em-bare-assed too, since we were wild love making, har har) and I'm totally not lovin' it.
Not only that, but Korean guys hang out in big packs, and they break dance and smoke, because break dancing and smoking is cool, like playing Starcraft. In fact, when I was in Korea, there were televised Star-Craft and Counter-Strike competitions on TV, and I fuck you not, these guys had the whole shebang: biker helmets, tight, shiny jumpsuits, gloves, boots, and pretty much anything else you could put on a fat nerd to hide his acne and overall fatness. It was pretty funny, until it fully sank in that these guys were, in fact, serious about it. Then it was depressing enough to make me want to kill myself. Which I didn't do, for your sake.
And what's the deal with Korean food? You think that stuff is normal, and then you look at the ingredients: "anchovy powder". What the fuck, why is there "anchovy powder" in my fucking ramen?
Remember in The Lion King, where Fatty McFat and Skinny Bones Jones are eating bugs and crap?
Fact: They sell canned, boiled mealworms in Korean supermarkets.
True story: Me and my brother were told to try it. Me and my brother both put like, a worm and maybe a half in our mouths. Except my brother had enough sense to make sure they came back out.
Anyways, Korean people kind of suck, except me. I'm like the Last Action Hero, except replace Action Hero with "Totally Awesome Korean Person." So that I'm The Last Totally Awesome Korean Person. Or something.
Every time I go to McDonalds, my parents grab a handful of napkins. I guess it's okay at McDonalds though, because all of the employees are illegal immigrants and so they're like "Hot damn, free napkins, I should have thought of thato." (the o is added there to signify that they are speaking Spanish) And then everything is pretty much fine and dandy, until I invite some honies (that's black talk for "girls") over and they're like "Oh shit, we got our love-fluids from our wild love-making EVERYWHERE." and I'm like "Don't sweat it, honies, A-dawg's got you covered." But then it is at that moment that I notice the big trademark M and my honies do too and they think I'm cheap and/or ghetto and I'm embarassed (and probably em-bare-assed too, since we were wild love making, har har) and I'm totally not lovin' it.
Not only that, but Korean guys hang out in big packs, and they break dance and smoke, because break dancing and smoking is cool, like playing Starcraft. In fact, when I was in Korea, there were televised Star-Craft and Counter-Strike competitions on TV, and I fuck you not, these guys had the whole shebang: biker helmets, tight, shiny jumpsuits, gloves, boots, and pretty much anything else you could put on a fat nerd to hide his acne and overall fatness. It was pretty funny, until it fully sank in that these guys were, in fact, serious about it. Then it was depressing enough to make me want to kill myself. Which I didn't do, for your sake.
And what's the deal with Korean food? You think that stuff is normal, and then you look at the ingredients: "anchovy powder". What the fuck, why is there "anchovy powder" in my fucking ramen?
Remember in The Lion King, where Fatty McFat and Skinny Bones Jones are eating bugs and crap?
Fact: They sell canned, boiled mealworms in Korean supermarkets.
True story: Me and my brother were told to try it. Me and my brother both put like, a worm and maybe a half in our mouths. Except my brother had enough sense to make sure they came back out.
Anyways, Korean people kind of suck, except me. I'm like the Last Action Hero, except replace Action Hero with "Totally Awesome Korean Person." So that I'm The Last Totally Awesome Korean Person. Or something.
Arthur Lee on 6:38 pm 0 comments
Thursday,December 16th, 2004
When The Man Comes Around.
Arthur Lee on 9:07 pm 0 comments
Friday,December 10th, 2004
Half-Life 2
Half-Life 2 is the best game ever and if you're not already on Steam buying your copy by the time you've reached this sentence, you're banned from my life forever.
So pretty much the game starts with an old man telling you to wake up and all of this other crap, and this guy has a lisp so you're wondering if you've accidentally bought Catholic Priest: Toddler Touchers or something, but you didn't, because Catholic Priest: Toddler Touchers isn't even a game (yet). So after the old man wakes you up, you get to walk around in a train station with all of these guys with cute white masks. But get this: Half-Life 2's state-of-the-art physics engine lets you ACTUALLY throw soda cans at them... and they even get mad and smack you with their cute purple electric vibrators. If that isn’t homoerotic fun I don’t know what is.
So a lot of shit happens and you throw a lot of soda cans at a lot of shit and then you get your ass intruded by a billion purple vibrators, when out of the blue this black girl named Alyx (Really a guy’s name, sorry Alex) kicks everyone's ass and saves you from your electrical penetration situation.
But hot damn, the coders of Half-Life 2 must have spent a lot of time perfecting the female AI for Alyx because I swear she acts just like a real life girl. I mean, she talks for like 30 minutes about stuff you don't really care about, and when you're done pretending to listen, she doesn't give you a blowjob. And because video games are supposed to teach you good morals, the programmers decided not to give you your big fucking crowbar until AFTER you had to deal with her shit, totally preventing you from giving the girl a good beating. Hooray for video games and good morals.
A lot later in the game, you get a weapon called the Zero Point Gravity Gun, but I like to call it the Throw Shit At Other Shit Really Fast Gun because it lets you throw shit at other shit really fast. Not only can you throw soda cans at people at neck-breaking speeds, you can also throw mattresses. You can kill people with mattresses, and if that doesn’t justify a purchase in and of itself, you probably are stupid and like Doom 3.
The one thing I didn’t like about the game was that there's a lot of techno music in the game, but that's okay because it's usually drowned out by the sounds of the people you're killing and stuff. Plus you can turn the music off if you want to, unless you’re a dipshit and like techno for some reason.
All-in-all, Half-Life 2 is the greatest game ever created, and if for some reason you disagree, you need to die.
So pretty much the game starts with an old man telling you to wake up and all of this other crap, and this guy has a lisp so you're wondering if you've accidentally bought Catholic Priest: Toddler Touchers or something, but you didn't, because Catholic Priest: Toddler Touchers isn't even a game (yet). So after the old man wakes you up, you get to walk around in a train station with all of these guys with cute white masks. But get this: Half-Life 2's state-of-the-art physics engine lets you ACTUALLY throw soda cans at them... and they even get mad and smack you with their cute purple electric vibrators. If that isn’t homoerotic fun I don’t know what is.
So a lot of shit happens and you throw a lot of soda cans at a lot of shit and then you get your ass intruded by a billion purple vibrators, when out of the blue this black girl named Alyx (Really a guy’s name, sorry Alex) kicks everyone's ass and saves you from your electrical penetration situation.
But hot damn, the coders of Half-Life 2 must have spent a lot of time perfecting the female AI for Alyx because I swear she acts just like a real life girl. I mean, she talks for like 30 minutes about stuff you don't really care about, and when you're done pretending to listen, she doesn't give you a blowjob. And because video games are supposed to teach you good morals, the programmers decided not to give you your big fucking crowbar until AFTER you had to deal with her shit, totally preventing you from giving the girl a good beating. Hooray for video games and good morals.
A lot later in the game, you get a weapon called the Zero Point Gravity Gun, but I like to call it the Throw Shit At Other Shit Really Fast Gun because it lets you throw shit at other shit really fast. Not only can you throw soda cans at people at neck-breaking speeds, you can also throw mattresses. You can kill people with mattresses, and if that doesn’t justify a purchase in and of itself, you probably are stupid and like Doom 3.
The one thing I didn’t like about the game was that there's a lot of techno music in the game, but that's okay because it's usually drowned out by the sounds of the people you're killing and stuff. Plus you can turn the music off if you want to, unless you’re a dipshit and like techno for some reason.
All-in-all, Half-Life 2 is the greatest game ever created, and if for some reason you disagree, you need to die.
Arthur Lee on 3:18 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,December 07th, 2004
A Pussy Post
First things first. Super Fun Dungeon Run will no longer carry the "Personal Attack" line of literature. I find it to be far too controversial when I single out certain people in a certain way, even though technically, it is a journal and a place for me to write my personal thoughts. As such I will no longer be making personal attacks directed towards specific people.
Also, when two friends are having a fight, please don't stick your dick into their shit. People have a tendency to ask help when they need it. My friends have told me that sometimes just waiting and letting things settle down is the best way to fix a problem, and really, all I needed was a little bit of time. Asking if I need help? That's no problem, I won't bite if you ask me, but asserting yourself in a way that even when I tell you that I've made my decision you continue to argue with me? That's just asking for trouble.
So please, for the love of GOD, when I have a problem, ask me if I need help. If I say yes, then feel free to assert all you want, but if I say no, do me and yourself a favor by completely fucking off for awhile while I get things settled down. That way, I don't get into any more fights that I already have to deal with.
Now that I've stretched the limits of being a pussy, I'll have more great asshole literature for you to read soon.
Also, when two friends are having a fight, please don't stick your dick into their shit. People have a tendency to ask help when they need it. My friends have told me that sometimes just waiting and letting things settle down is the best way to fix a problem, and really, all I needed was a little bit of time. Asking if I need help? That's no problem, I won't bite if you ask me, but asserting yourself in a way that even when I tell you that I've made my decision you continue to argue with me? That's just asking for trouble.
So please, for the love of GOD, when I have a problem, ask me if I need help. If I say yes, then feel free to assert all you want, but if I say no, do me and yourself a favor by completely fucking off for awhile while I get things settled down. That way, I don't get into any more fights that I already have to deal with.
Now that I've stretched the limits of being a pussy, I'll have more great asshole literature for you to read soon.
Arthur Lee on 2:49 pm 0 comments
Thursday,December 02nd, 2004
Scathing Social Commentary
I hate Orange County bitches and I'd really like to go up to their faces and tell them that, but I don't because they'd get mad at me, probably over the fact that it's not hip to call it Orange County anymore (it's "The O.C.", bitch).
They walk around in their skin tight jeans with their thong straps showing. I really hate to break it to you people, but thongs aren't really hot at all. I mean, sumo wrestlers have been wearing those things up their asses for a long time, and I've gotta say, if my girlfriend (God willing) ever did anything to suggest she wanted to be more like a sumo wrestler I would probably kick her ass, which would be pretty easy to do since it's pretty much out in the open.
Then we've got them wearing makeup. If you've gotta put crap on your face to make yourself look hot, that's gotta say something about how you look without it. At least clowns know they look like dopes when they cover their face in that crap.
Then uggs (thanks carol), which is ironic because it sounds alot like "ugh"
and "ugly", which I like to tell people that wear them. And what's best is that if they try to kick your ass, you won't feel a damned thing because uggs are ugly and they're made of soft, fuzzy babyskin. But mostly because they're ugly.
O.C. bitches hang out in ravenous packs, wearing pink pajamas in public, because looking nappy is so totally hot. They're constantly hugging each other and kissing each other and making you wonder if you're watching a lesbian porno. And when they're not doing that, they're calling each other hot because they need someone to remind them how hot they are in case they forget, which they do.
Usually I'd write some sort of brilliant plan on how I'd masterfully and wittily exterminate them, but I figure they'll all die of STDs anyways. That's how they do it in the O.C. bitch.
They walk around in their skin tight jeans with their thong straps showing. I really hate to break it to you people, but thongs aren't really hot at all. I mean, sumo wrestlers have been wearing those things up their asses for a long time, and I've gotta say, if my girlfriend (God willing) ever did anything to suggest she wanted to be more like a sumo wrestler I would probably kick her ass, which would be pretty easy to do since it's pretty much out in the open.
Then we've got them wearing makeup. If you've gotta put crap on your face to make yourself look hot, that's gotta say something about how you look without it. At least clowns know they look like dopes when they cover their face in that crap.
Then uggs (thanks carol), which is ironic because it sounds alot like "ugh"
and "ugly", which I like to tell people that wear them. And what's best is that if they try to kick your ass, you won't feel a damned thing because uggs are ugly and they're made of soft, fuzzy babyskin. But mostly because they're ugly.
O.C. bitches hang out in ravenous packs, wearing pink pajamas in public, because looking nappy is so totally hot. They're constantly hugging each other and kissing each other and making you wonder if you're watching a lesbian porno. And when they're not doing that, they're calling each other hot because they need someone to remind them how hot they are in case they forget, which they do.
Usually I'd write some sort of brilliant plan on how I'd masterfully and wittily exterminate them, but I figure they'll all die of STDs anyways. That's how they do it in the O.C. bitch.
Arthur Lee on 5:42 pm 0 comments
Thursday,November 18th, 2004
Arthur Lee on 6:17 pm 0 comments
Monday,November 15th, 2004
WOW.
Half-Life 2 is the greatest fucking video game ever created and if you disagree, please give me your street address so that I may come to your house and KILL YOU.
Arthur Lee on 9:26 pm 0 comments
Saturday,November 13th, 2004
A Reminder
Hey let me get this clear to all of you whiny bitches:
The opinions expressed on this site are MY FUCKING OPINIONS. If you don't agree with them, then STOP FUCKING READING IT. For tips on how to STOP FUCKING READING try one of the following:
1) Press ALT-F4.
2) Press CTRL-ALT-DELETE, find the process IEXPLORE.EXE and press CLOSE.
3) Turn off the computer.
4) Gouge out your fucking eyes.
5) Run outside of the room and turn off the power in your house.
6) Be a sensible fucking person and just stop reading it.
My website is not CNN, it is not MSNBC, it is not the AP, and hell it's not even The Onion. My website is a journal, and in my journal, I like to write down what I like to call 'my opinions.' Yes that's right, opinions, not facts. So if I think you're a cunt, maybe I'll write about it. Does it make it true? Not necessarily, but I'd like to think so. And by all means, disagree with me if you want, but don't fucking get on my case if my opinion isn't the same as what you want my opinion to be.
The opinions expressed on this site are MY FUCKING OPINIONS. If you don't agree with them, then STOP FUCKING READING IT. For tips on how to STOP FUCKING READING try one of the following:
1) Press ALT-F4.
2) Press CTRL-ALT-DELETE, find the process IEXPLORE.EXE and press CLOSE.
3) Turn off the computer.
4) Gouge out your fucking eyes.
5) Run outside of the room and turn off the power in your house.
6) Be a sensible fucking person and just stop reading it.
My website is not CNN, it is not MSNBC, it is not the AP, and hell it's not even The Onion. My website is a journal, and in my journal, I like to write down what I like to call 'my opinions.' Yes that's right, opinions, not facts. So if I think you're a cunt, maybe I'll write about it. Does it make it true? Not necessarily, but I'd like to think so. And by all means, disagree with me if you want, but don't fucking get on my case if my opinion isn't the same as what you want my opinion to be.
Arthur Lee on 6:41 am 0 comments
Thursday,November 11th, 2004
WHAT HAPPEN?
As I lie here in bed, cold, and alone, but mostly cold, a great sense of sorrow overtakes my body and a single tear streams down my cheeks as I lament over what rock music has become. I remember the days when rock wasn't about how angry you could sound or how many girls you could get to feel sorry for you. No, there was a day when rock music was about testosterone-laden guitar slamming, men (yes, men!) with sunglasses and big hair singing (yes, rock music used to have singing in it!) about cool stuff.
But hark! What has happened? When did rock become guys with makeup on singing about how their life is a pane of glass, shattering like their hopes and dreams, severing their wrists and veins, which cannot be washed away by tears. What happened to the good old days of singing about how awesome America is and how Communism is for fags? Has my yellow submarine been sunken by a battleship of sorrow?
Sometimes I wonder why the "emo" movement is even called that. Afterall, emo is the first three letters of the word emotional, an accurate indicator of exactly what emo is not. I mean come on, emo music expresses exactly and only one emotion: sad. And it's not just sad about something that's worth being sad over, like being raped, it's sad about EVERYTHING. They should just call it "sadhorse music", sad because it's sad and horse because it sucks horseshit.
But that's not all.
True story: Once, someone went to the zoo and fell into the lion pit. He screamed loudly as he was being ripped apart by vicious beasts when suddenly a mic dropped from on high and recorded the entire act. This is how hardcore rock was started.
Sometimes you can't even understand what they're saying but that doesn't really matter because they're usually not saying very much besides "DEATH AND KILL YOUR PARENTS DO NOT CONFORM, DO NOT CONFORM." Afterall, conforming to "speaking in a normal voice" is such an awful, conformist thing.
Then we have death metal and all those guys are goths so nobody listens to them anyways.
See the way I figure it, rock music is a lot like Coke. Awhile back, the Coca Cola company decided it was time for change and change it got with the advent of what was then called "New Coke". Nobody really liked New Coke and after awhile the Coca Cola company said "Whoa shit we fucked up" and they got rid of New Coke. Long story short, don't fuck with something good because you'll fuck it up and it'll be shit. And that's no good unless you're some sick fuck that enjoys shit.
But hark! What has happened? When did rock become guys with makeup on singing about how their life is a pane of glass, shattering like their hopes and dreams, severing their wrists and veins, which cannot be washed away by tears. What happened to the good old days of singing about how awesome America is and how Communism is for fags? Has my yellow submarine been sunken by a battleship of sorrow?
Sometimes I wonder why the "emo" movement is even called that. Afterall, emo is the first three letters of the word emotional, an accurate indicator of exactly what emo is not. I mean come on, emo music expresses exactly and only one emotion: sad. And it's not just sad about something that's worth being sad over, like being raped, it's sad about EVERYTHING. They should just call it "sadhorse music", sad because it's sad and horse because it sucks horseshit.
But that's not all.
True story: Once, someone went to the zoo and fell into the lion pit. He screamed loudly as he was being ripped apart by vicious beasts when suddenly a mic dropped from on high and recorded the entire act. This is how hardcore rock was started.
Sometimes you can't even understand what they're saying but that doesn't really matter because they're usually not saying very much besides "DEATH AND KILL YOUR PARENTS DO NOT CONFORM, DO NOT CONFORM." Afterall, conforming to "speaking in a normal voice" is such an awful, conformist thing.
Then we have death metal and all those guys are goths so nobody listens to them anyways.
See the way I figure it, rock music is a lot like Coke. Awhile back, the Coca Cola company decided it was time for change and change it got with the advent of what was then called "New Coke". Nobody really liked New Coke and after awhile the Coca Cola company said "Whoa shit we fucked up" and they got rid of New Coke. Long story short, don't fuck with something good because you'll fuck it up and it'll be shit. And that's no good unless you're some sick fuck that enjoys shit.
Arthur Lee on 6:19 pm 0 comments
Monday,November 08th, 2004
I'm not the only asshole around.
It's funny how universal the word "fuck" is.
One time I was in Korea and this little kid told me to "bock shadoop." The kid was like 5 years old so any inclination I had to kick his ass was replaced by a desire to smash up all of his toys. Him being Korean, these toys would probably consist of some origami cranes and maybe some chopsticks.
This leads to my realization as to how universal being an asshole is.
I mean, you can go anywhere and I guarantee you there will be at least one asshole there, waiting to fuck with you. In Africa, the huge bushman with huge tits and that scary fuck-off unibrow who's telling all the skinnier Africans to give him their giraffemeat. Or in Asia, Kim Jong Il and that little maggot 5-year-old-kick who told me off. In Russa, everybody is an asshole (and a communist). Or in America, we've got me.
There are probably a hundred different ways to show respect to other people in other cultures. Why bother trying to learn them all when you could just punch other cultures in the FACE?
One time I was in Korea and this little kid told me to "bock shadoop." The kid was like 5 years old so any inclination I had to kick his ass was replaced by a desire to smash up all of his toys. Him being Korean, these toys would probably consist of some origami cranes and maybe some chopsticks.
This leads to my realization as to how universal being an asshole is.
I mean, you can go anywhere and I guarantee you there will be at least one asshole there, waiting to fuck with you. In Africa, the huge bushman with huge tits and that scary fuck-off unibrow who's telling all the skinnier Africans to give him their giraffemeat. Or in Asia, Kim Jong Il and that little maggot 5-year-old-kick who told me off. In Russa, everybody is an asshole (and a communist). Or in America, we've got me.
There are probably a hundred different ways to show respect to other people in other cultures. Why bother trying to learn them all when you could just punch other cultures in the FACE?
Arthur Lee on 8:43 pm 0 comments
Sunday,November 07th, 2004
Forums, dude.
Yeah, okay, time to revive the forums, guys. Get your moronic friends in there. Promise them CANDY.
Arthur Lee on 7:05 pm 0 comments
Sunday,October 31st, 2004
My directing debut: VOLUME TWO.
Arthur Lee on 3:26 pm 0 comments
My directing debut.
Arthur Lee on 7:48 am 0 comments
The Glass Menagerie
Arthur Lee on 7:02 am 0 comments
Monday,October 25th, 2004
Rant on Myspace
Myth: Myspace is great.
Fact: Myspace was created by Hitler in the early 1940's in an attempt to undermine the Allied war efforts. Haha, man I'm so good at making jokes.
Anyways, the truth is Myspace is bad. Why?
I mean come on, think about it. Men in their late 20's wanting to innocently befriend naive 12 year old girls. First they talk about music, then they talk about fashion, then they talk about pants, and then they talk about taking off the pants. The Oracle in The Matrix asks Neo "What do all men with power want?" and Neo says something dumb like "You mean I can dodge bullets" or someshit. But the answer to that question is "men want penis fodder".
Which makes you wonder, why then, do these great people advertise that they're "single" and "looking for a friend." Well for starters, "looking for a pedophiliac relationship" doesn't really appeal to a broad crowd. Additonally, "single" doesn't refer as much to their marital status as it does to the number of digits they want in their new fun-friends' ages. I'd want to call them sick fucks but that's exactly what they're looking for.
And also I mean come on, how superficial is it to become friends because you happen to like the same color or band or brand of fucking duct tape?
"I like breathing air"
"Me too."
"GREAT let's be friends."
Hey guys, I run a website where I hate a lot of people. Anyone want to be friends?
Think of it this way, would you let a complete stranger tickle your asshole? I sure as hell wouldn't, because Safety Pup told me the run the fuck away from strangers. I would much rather be bored shitless than to be hit on by some random.
And what's worse is when you see these motherfuckers with like, 3,653,213,539 "e-Friends" and you think, wow, this guy is ePopular. And you look through the list and you see "Little Abbigail '87" and a photo of a hot sexy asian chick and you're like holy damn and so you bring up her Myspace and you find our her Screen Name and then you IM her and for some reason she only responds every 5 minutes. You know why? It's because Little Abbigail '87 is really Convict David McSickFuck '45 and he's passionately stroking his big Italian penis every time you "joke" about liking her/him. "Hey, I'm really 60 and I want to stick my cock in you, LOL JUST KIDDING LETS LAFF."
So really guys, what the fuck. I mean okay it's reasonable to use Myspace as a place to rediscover your old friends, but seriously, you have the whole fucking world open right outside your front door. There are awesome people out there who you could really get to know if you gave them a chance. Why the fuck would you go online and condense your entire life onto a page of your interests and shit in order to meet some pedophile half-way around the world? Has society really become so bad that cybernetic textual companionship is better than good old fashioned real life human contact? If so, fucking shoot me, because I swear to God, if you're ever going to get play you're not going to get it by sticking your dick inside the disk drive and I'll be damned if I ever recieve someone's semen/vaginal fluids via AIM File Send.
Open your fucking windows, remove the screen cover (or kick it off), go outside, meet some people, get away from your fucking computers. You could probably walk out the front door too, but that's less dramatic. Stop giving yourself an excuse to not talk to the people you know in real life by setting up bullshit relationships with complete strangers who are probably the worst shits in the universe.
Fact: Myspace was created by Hitler in the early 1940's in an attempt to undermine the Allied war efforts. Haha, man I'm so good at making jokes.
Anyways, the truth is Myspace is bad. Why?
I mean come on, think about it. Men in their late 20's wanting to innocently befriend naive 12 year old girls. First they talk about music, then they talk about fashion, then they talk about pants, and then they talk about taking off the pants. The Oracle in The Matrix asks Neo "What do all men with power want?" and Neo says something dumb like "You mean I can dodge bullets" or someshit. But the answer to that question is "men want penis fodder".
Which makes you wonder, why then, do these great people advertise that they're "single" and "looking for a friend." Well for starters, "looking for a pedophiliac relationship" doesn't really appeal to a broad crowd. Additonally, "single" doesn't refer as much to their marital status as it does to the number of digits they want in their new fun-friends' ages. I'd want to call them sick fucks but that's exactly what they're looking for.
And also I mean come on, how superficial is it to become friends because you happen to like the same color or band or brand of fucking duct tape?
"I like breathing air"
"Me too."
"GREAT let's be friends."
Hey guys, I run a website where I hate a lot of people. Anyone want to be friends?
Think of it this way, would you let a complete stranger tickle your asshole? I sure as hell wouldn't, because Safety Pup told me the run the fuck away from strangers. I would much rather be bored shitless than to be hit on by some random.
And what's worse is when you see these motherfuckers with like, 3,653,213,539 "e-Friends" and you think, wow, this guy is ePopular. And you look through the list and you see "Little Abbigail '87" and a photo of a hot sexy asian chick and you're like holy damn and so you bring up her Myspace and you find our her Screen Name and then you IM her and for some reason she only responds every 5 minutes. You know why? It's because Little Abbigail '87 is really Convict David McSickFuck '45 and he's passionately stroking his big Italian penis every time you "joke" about liking her/him. "Hey, I'm really 60 and I want to stick my cock in you, LOL JUST KIDDING LETS LAFF."
So really guys, what the fuck. I mean okay it's reasonable to use Myspace as a place to rediscover your old friends, but seriously, you have the whole fucking world open right outside your front door. There are awesome people out there who you could really get to know if you gave them a chance. Why the fuck would you go online and condense your entire life onto a page of your interests and shit in order to meet some pedophile half-way around the world? Has society really become so bad that cybernetic textual companionship is better than good old fashioned real life human contact? If so, fucking shoot me, because I swear to God, if you're ever going to get play you're not going to get it by sticking your dick inside the disk drive and I'll be damned if I ever recieve someone's semen/vaginal fluids via AIM File Send.
Open your fucking windows, remove the screen cover (or kick it off), go outside, meet some people, get away from your fucking computers. You could probably walk out the front door too, but that's less dramatic. Stop giving yourself an excuse to not talk to the people you know in real life by setting up bullshit relationships with complete strangers who are probably the worst shits in the universe.
Arthur Lee on 7:13 pm 0 comments
Thursday,October 21st, 2004
SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN
I RULE.
Arthur Lee on 5:15 pm 0 comments
Sunday,October 17th, 2004
WILFRED 33
Arthur Lee on 1:19 pm 0 comments
Friday,October 15th, 2004
When life gives you lemons.
One time I had lemonade powder on my hand and my eye itched so I rubbed it and then I cried lemonade. It ruled.
Arthur Lee on 6:55 pm 0 comments
Thursday,October 14th, 2004
My life
ACT I:
"You are a shitty son."
- "Sorry."
"You're the worst motherfucking son ever."
- "I'm sorry."
"Fucking worthless. I hate you and this fucking family."
ACT II:
"Your father loves you."
- "Sob."
"You know he loves you. He cares about our family"
- "Sob."
"You know he loves you and he cares about our family and he's stressed out about work."
- "Sob."
ACT III:
""
- ""
""
- ""
""
- ""
ACT IV:
"Sorry, son."
"You are a shitty son."
- "Sorry."
"You're the worst motherfucking son ever."
- "I'm sorry."
"Fucking worthless. I hate you and this fucking family."
ACT II:
"Your father loves you."
- "Sob."
"You know he loves you. He cares about our family"
- "Sob."
"You know he loves you and he cares about our family and he's stressed out about work."
- "Sob."
ACT III:
""
- ""
""
- ""
""
- ""
ACT IV:
"Sorry, son."
Arthur Lee on 5:06 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,October 06th, 2004
Brian Roth is an Anti-Nazi Fag.
Okay so there's this guy in my class named Brian Roth and every time I see him he does the old Kindergarten exclusion tactic and says "Hey nobody talk to Arthur, he's a fag and a fucking Nazi." Which would be kind of serious if it weren't for the fact that he's fat, he looks like a pigeon, and he sounds like a pig.
So we have the Nazi arguement.
Okay fatty, I know it might be kind of hard to see past all that fat that's forcing your eyelids closed, but take a look at me. First of all you'll notice that I'm not a white supremist. Reason: I'm not white.
Secondly, getting upset over being verbally "oppressed" and then turning around and calling me a fucking "fag?" It's okay to hate the homosexuals but not the Jews. Right yeah okay, retard. I'd feel kind of bad right now, but I assume it's alright to hate retarded people too as long as they're not retarded JEWS.
What's worse, one day I was in the car with a female acquaintance of mine when who do I see but Brian the fatass Roth skateboarding with a bunch of his friends. So we pass by him and he says (as usual):
"Oh it's Arthur. What a fag. He hates Jews. He's a faggot don't talk to him."
Now correct me if I'm wrong but a bunch of guys skating together (P.S. skaters are morons) vs. me in the car with a FEMALE. Oh yeah I'm SUCH a fag!
And just because you tell people not to talk to me doesn't mean they won't. I mean sorry, but if some fatass retard fuckhead came up to me and said "HAY DUNNOT TALK 2 DAT GUY HES A FAGIT" I would much rather go to that guy and collaborate with him to kick your fat ass and roll it down a hill than to avoid him.
When it all boils down, Brian Roth falls under the "Nobody Likes Me So I Bring Up The Race Card" category of losers. I don't hate him because he's a Jew. I hate him because he's fat and he acts like a fucking retard. I know it's a cliche to say this, but I've got plenty of Jewish friends and to this day I have not killed one of them. Honest!
On an slightly related side note: just because someone is a Nazi doesn't mean every fucking sentence they say is going to be a piece of Nazirrific anti-semhowever-you-spell-it shit.
So we have the Nazi arguement.
Okay fatty, I know it might be kind of hard to see past all that fat that's forcing your eyelids closed, but take a look at me. First of all you'll notice that I'm not a white supremist. Reason: I'm not white.
Secondly, getting upset over being verbally "oppressed" and then turning around and calling me a fucking "fag?" It's okay to hate the homosexuals but not the Jews. Right yeah okay, retard. I'd feel kind of bad right now, but I assume it's alright to hate retarded people too as long as they're not retarded JEWS.
What's worse, one day I was in the car with a female acquaintance of mine when who do I see but Brian the fatass Roth skateboarding with a bunch of his friends. So we pass by him and he says (as usual):
"Oh it's Arthur. What a fag. He hates Jews. He's a faggot don't talk to him."
Now correct me if I'm wrong but a bunch of guys skating together (P.S. skaters are morons) vs. me in the car with a FEMALE. Oh yeah I'm SUCH a fag!
And just because you tell people not to talk to me doesn't mean they won't. I mean sorry, but if some fatass retard fuckhead came up to me and said "HAY DUNNOT TALK 2 DAT GUY HES A FAGIT" I would much rather go to that guy and collaborate with him to kick your fat ass and roll it down a hill than to avoid him.
When it all boils down, Brian Roth falls under the "Nobody Likes Me So I Bring Up The Race Card" category of losers. I don't hate him because he's a Jew. I hate him because he's fat and he acts like a fucking retard. I know it's a cliche to say this, but I've got plenty of Jewish friends and to this day I have not killed one of them. Honest!
On an slightly related side note: just because someone is a Nazi doesn't mean every fucking sentence they say is going to be a piece of Nazirrific anti-semhowever-you-spell-it shit.
Arthur Lee on 6:26 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,September 29th, 2004
Javascript + Me = :(
If there's one thing that pisses me off like a fat white guy speaking Japanese, it's chain letters. I mean come the fuck on, no matter how many people you send a sobstory about a dying chinese immigrant to, it's not going to change a damned thing in the world. Well, actually I lied, one thing WILL change: your friends will hate you.
Then we have those other chain letters that are like "IF U SEND THIS 2 30 PPL U WILL FINALLY KISS THE GUY U WANT 2 KISS FOREVER" and you can totally tell that a girl wrote it because I don't want to fucking kiss a guy. Plus only girls come up with silly shit like this anyways. Plus if a guy wrote it it would be like "U WILL TOTALLY SEE THE TITS OF UR DREAM GIRL" because guys are like that.
I've decided to help mankind out. How?
What do boys want? Hot chicks.
What do girls want? To write stupid piece of shit goddamn annoying chain letters to send to all 300 peopleshe's sucked dicks of on her buddy list.
The [final] solution. An instant chain-letter generator. Instead of sitting down and actually making up bullshit, why not have a machine do it for you! Certainly helps reduce the 'having to think' part of writing a chain letter anyways. And with the extra 3 hours the girls save by not thinking, they can go out! With the boys! EVERYBODY WINS. Except if you're a guy and you're ugly and the girls won't go out with you anyways, but then you can probably just become an emo and all the hot emo chicks will dig you too.
I am just TOO good sometimes.
Then we have those other chain letters that are like "IF U SEND THIS 2 30 PPL U WILL FINALLY KISS THE GUY U WANT 2 KISS FOREVER" and you can totally tell that a girl wrote it because I don't want to fucking kiss a guy. Plus only girls come up with silly shit like this anyways. Plus if a guy wrote it it would be like "U WILL TOTALLY SEE THE TITS OF UR DREAM GIRL" because guys are like that.
I've decided to help mankind out. How?
What do boys want? Hot chicks.
What do girls want? To write stupid piece of shit goddamn annoying chain letters to send to all 300 people
The [final] solution. An instant chain-letter generator. Instead of sitting down and actually making up bullshit, why not have a machine do it for you! Certainly helps reduce the 'having to think' part of writing a chain letter anyways. And with the extra 3 hours the girls save by not thinking, they can go out! With the boys! EVERYBODY WINS. Except if you're a guy and you're ugly and the girls won't go out with you anyways, but then you can probably just become an emo and all the hot emo chicks will dig you too.
I am just TOO good sometimes.
Arthur Lee on 9:56 pm 0 comments
DOS WILFREDES NUEVOS.
Two new Wilfreds. One is admittedly kind of crap. The other is too, but only if you're a jerk.
Issue 31: Arthur learns at school.
Issue 32: Ironic.
Issue 31: Arthur learns at school.
Issue 32: Ironic.
Arthur Lee on 7:49 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,September 28th, 2004
MORAL DILLEMA.
I stole a packet of gum from my grandma. Am I going to hell?
Arthur Lee on 5:48 pm 0 comments
Sunday,September 26th, 2004
Archetype High
A look at the different people at school:
Overachieving Asian - The Overachieving Asian has at least a 4.0 GPA. He carries with him a sharpened pencil at all times, in case a pop quiz he should encounter. The sharp pencil also doubles as a tool for the art of sepukku: ancient Japanese ritualistic suicide, just in case his GPA falls below the 4.0 range. He always talks about how badly he did on the essay (A-) because he wants you to be nice and tell him how great he is and how much better he is than you. Which sadly, is true.
Football Players - The football players study playbooks and then they run into each other and then get to play with the cheerleaders.
Cheerleaders - The cheerleaders study the football palyers and then they jump on each other and then get to play with the footbal players.
Metallica - The Metallicas are fat and ugly and they wear shirts that say Metallica and Led Zeppelin. In actuality I only know one Metallica and his name is Mike and he has lots of acne, which serves him right because Rock music was created by Satan to punish Jesus somehow.
The Fobs - The fobs wear short pants and always have their hair tossed up because in whatever country they're from, looking retarded is an indicator of status and high culture. Their parents don't know any English and as a result their names are generally phonetic representations of their names in their mother tongue. Often times this leads to hilarity with names like Mai Pou.
Witches - The witches sit in a coven, chanting spells and making magic potion in their boiling cauldron/trashcan. You can tell they're fake though because they don't melt if you throw water on them. But you shouldn't do that either because I hear all witches are ugly and don't wear bras.
Gamers - Gamers sit around and talk about bump mapping 3d pixel shading technology. This is because they don't have girlfriends.
Goths - Goths are the living undead, whatever that self-contradictory statement means. They wear heavy clothing to protect them from the sunlight because sunlight burns off their skin since they're vampires. They wear boots because it might rain.
Bandos - Nobody understands the Bandos because they have so many inside jokes. You're likely to hear one Bando say "Toothpick" and have it followed by an uproarious laughter (but only other Bandos). Bandos are passionate about blowing and hitting and pulling things, and I think it's for this reason that Allan thinks that bandos are good at sex. But Allan is a stupidface and also thinks ugly girls are hot so don't believe him even if he offers you candy.
Agent Smith - Agent Smith walks around school and makes sure everybody is following the dress code. They are perfect by design and are nearly unstoppable. Fortunately they can't put their hands in your chest and transform you into one of them, because that's sexual assault, clearly against the school rules.
Dramafags - The Dramafags earn this nickname because 9/10 thespians are homosexual. They're almost never funny because their jokes consist of funny lines from their favorite plays, which pretty much means you're more likely to laugh from pounding nails into your testicles (or ovaries if you're a female, I guess).
Fanboy - These people talk about Anime and get into fights over which Sailor Scout is superior. These fights usually end in a terrific mech battle that leaves the city in ruins. They wish there were some surgery they could do to make their eyes huge and shiny, but until then they dress up in silly costumes and go to silly conventions.
Geeks - Geeks are ugly but they're smart so you should have one geek friend to do your homework for you.
Emo - Emo people look like geeks but they're not because they're not smart. True story.
Assholes - Me.
Overachieving Asian - The Overachieving Asian has at least a 4.0 GPA. He carries with him a sharpened pencil at all times, in case a pop quiz he should encounter. The sharp pencil also doubles as a tool for the art of sepukku: ancient Japanese ritualistic suicide, just in case his GPA falls below the 4.0 range. He always talks about how badly he did on the essay (A-) because he wants you to be nice and tell him how great he is and how much better he is than you. Which sadly, is true.
Football Players - The football players study playbooks and then they run into each other and then get to play with the cheerleaders.
Cheerleaders - The cheerleaders study the football palyers and then they jump on each other and then get to play with the footbal players.
Metallica - The Metallicas are fat and ugly and they wear shirts that say Metallica and Led Zeppelin. In actuality I only know one Metallica and his name is Mike and he has lots of acne, which serves him right because Rock music was created by Satan to punish Jesus somehow.
The Fobs - The fobs wear short pants and always have their hair tossed up because in whatever country they're from, looking retarded is an indicator of status and high culture. Their parents don't know any English and as a result their names are generally phonetic representations of their names in their mother tongue. Often times this leads to hilarity with names like Mai Pou.
Witches - The witches sit in a coven, chanting spells and making magic potion in their boiling cauldron/trashcan. You can tell they're fake though because they don't melt if you throw water on them. But you shouldn't do that either because I hear all witches are ugly and don't wear bras.
Gamers - Gamers sit around and talk about bump mapping 3d pixel shading technology. This is because they don't have girlfriends.
Goths - Goths are the living undead, whatever that self-contradictory statement means. They wear heavy clothing to protect them from the sunlight because sunlight burns off their skin since they're vampires. They wear boots because it might rain.
Bandos - Nobody understands the Bandos because they have so many inside jokes. You're likely to hear one Bando say "Toothpick" and have it followed by an uproarious laughter (but only other Bandos). Bandos are passionate about blowing and hitting and pulling things, and I think it's for this reason that Allan thinks that bandos are good at sex. But Allan is a stupidface and also thinks ugly girls are hot so don't believe him even if he offers you candy.
Agent Smith - Agent Smith walks around school and makes sure everybody is following the dress code. They are perfect by design and are nearly unstoppable. Fortunately they can't put their hands in your chest and transform you into one of them, because that's sexual assault, clearly against the school rules.
Dramafags - The Dramafags earn this nickname because 9/10 thespians are homosexual. They're almost never funny because their jokes consist of funny lines from their favorite plays, which pretty much means you're more likely to laugh from pounding nails into your testicles (or ovaries if you're a female, I guess).
Fanboy - These people talk about Anime and get into fights over which Sailor Scout is superior. These fights usually end in a terrific mech battle that leaves the city in ruins. They wish there were some surgery they could do to make their eyes huge and shiny, but until then they dress up in silly costumes and go to silly conventions.
Geeks - Geeks are ugly but they're smart so you should have one geek friend to do your homework for you.
Emo - Emo people look like geeks but they're not because they're not smart. True story.
Assholes - Me.
Arthur Lee on 8:45 pm 0 comments
Saturday,September 25th, 2004
Prometheus
Movies about AI suck because they always involve AI that become so smart that they overcome human beings. Eventually, I'd like to make a movie about AI that's so stupid that the humans totally kick its ass when it tries to take over the human race. I will call it Prometheus. Actually, I would make it sound more futuristic by adding a number in the two thousands after it. Prometheus 2041.
The movie would be funny because Prometheus would run on Windows 2041 XP Business Professional Coporation Media Center Edition. He would always run into things and it would be funny because Windows always crashes. One of the most memorable scenes in the movie would be when he crashes into a baby and kills it and the A.R.F (Anti-Robot Federation, established in 2040) would come in and Prometheus would say "Illegal operation." Then he would shoot lasers at all of the A.R.F. soldiers.
Prometheus isn't a bad robot though. The way I have it planned out is Prometheus is obedient until the sex scene about a quarter into the movie when he sticks his floppy into another robot's disk drive. A virus gets copied onto the floppy disk (you can tell because the female robot says "VIRUS UPLOADING.") and then Prometheus begins to act maliciously.
Throughout the movie, Prometheus has thoughts about wanting to be a human. He thinks the only way to do this is to kill a baby and take its skin. However, after he does this, he becomes frustrated by the fact that he is still a robot and decides instead, to dominate the world.
But in the end Prometheus' battery runs out, and all of the humans laugh at him and turn him into a toaster. For a year, Prometheus is stuck making toast for a fat guy named Davey. In the sequel, however, (Toaster 2042) Prometheus will have his revenge.
I thought about some clever taglines for the film. I was thinking something like "He rules, with an iron fist." with a big picture of Prometheus' metal claw. But I'm not even sure Prometheus has a metal claw yet so I might have to revise that.
In terms of actors, I think Christopher Walken would make a good Prometheus because he talks like a robot. The President of the New Federation of States of America would probably be played by Gary Coleman if he isn't dead. This would be effective because it would prove that in the future there are black presidents. The female sex computer would be played by Christina Aguilera because we all know she is a stupid infected bitch. I would make a cameo appearance in the film as Hacker 2.
Anyways, this movie will totally rock when I make it some day. And even if I don't it'll totally rock because I thought it up. Bye.
The movie would be funny because Prometheus would run on Windows 2041 XP Business Professional Coporation Media Center Edition. He would always run into things and it would be funny because Windows always crashes. One of the most memorable scenes in the movie would be when he crashes into a baby and kills it and the A.R.F (Anti-Robot Federation, established in 2040) would come in and Prometheus would say "Illegal operation." Then he would shoot lasers at all of the A.R.F. soldiers.
Prometheus isn't a bad robot though. The way I have it planned out is Prometheus is obedient until the sex scene about a quarter into the movie when he sticks his floppy into another robot's disk drive. A virus gets copied onto the floppy disk (you can tell because the female robot says "VIRUS UPLOADING.") and then Prometheus begins to act maliciously.
Throughout the movie, Prometheus has thoughts about wanting to be a human. He thinks the only way to do this is to kill a baby and take its skin. However, after he does this, he becomes frustrated by the fact that he is still a robot and decides instead, to dominate the world.
But in the end Prometheus' battery runs out, and all of the humans laugh at him and turn him into a toaster. For a year, Prometheus is stuck making toast for a fat guy named Davey. In the sequel, however, (Toaster 2042) Prometheus will have his revenge.
I thought about some clever taglines for the film. I was thinking something like "He rules, with an iron fist." with a big picture of Prometheus' metal claw. But I'm not even sure Prometheus has a metal claw yet so I might have to revise that.
In terms of actors, I think Christopher Walken would make a good Prometheus because he talks like a robot. The President of the New Federation of States of America would probably be played by Gary Coleman if he isn't dead. This would be effective because it would prove that in the future there are black presidents. The female sex computer would be played by Christina Aguilera because we all know she is a stupid infected bitch. I would make a cameo appearance in the film as Hacker 2.
Anyways, this movie will totally rock when I make it some day. And even if I don't it'll totally rock because I thought it up. Bye.
Arthur Lee on 9:13 pm 0 comments
Thursday,September 23rd, 2004
Step by Step: How to Always Be Right
1. Wait for the opposition to make a typo and then exploit the situation as an indication as to how "stupid" they are. Be sure not to misspell the word "stupid", stupid.
2. They will probably respond with a phrase that indicates that "everybody makes mistakes" or that "nobody's perfect." To this you will respond "that may be true, but you're still as dumb as a giraffe." Substitute another hilarious mammal for giraffe is you so desire or if you have already used giraffe in a previous statement.
2. After you have established your superiority over the opposition, find a degrading nickname to call that person by. For example, Podunkian could be Poodumpian. Semertidez could easily be Sementidez. Vattha could be Fat-tha. Be sure to put a hyphen between the T's otherwise someone might think you're trying to say fatha, which I assume to be the gangsta way of saying father.
3. Have big muscles. Nobody would ever fuck around with someone with big muscles. If your opposition has bigger muscles than you, apply Photoshop.
4. Maintain your superiority by repeatedly calling your opposition demeaning names like "stupid" or "asshat." The more creative your names the quicker your victory. An example of a great creative name would be, for example, "Mr. Dumbshoe McStupidpants".
4. Whenever the opposition brings up a valid point, tell your opposition to shut the fuck up and then bring up a new point before your opposition can recover from the last crippling blow.
5. If things get bleak, copy and paste (Ctrl-C, Ctrl-V) this:
"Look, I don't have time to deal with stupid dumbshoes like you. Get the fuck out of my house."
6. However, if you have fought a sucessful battle up to this point, now would be a great time to deliver the finishing blow. This comes in the form of a witty one-liner, such as "I win." or "Game over." Finish him.
7. At this point, your opponent will be in tears, and then you can call him an emo. Fatality.
8. You are right. Repeat numerous times to gain "always right" status.
2. They will probably respond with a phrase that indicates that "everybody makes mistakes" or that "nobody's perfect." To this you will respond "that may be true, but you're still as dumb as a giraffe." Substitute another hilarious mammal for giraffe is you so desire or if you have already used giraffe in a previous statement.
2. After you have established your superiority over the opposition, find a degrading nickname to call that person by. For example, Podunkian could be Poodumpian. Semertidez could easily be Sementidez. Vattha could be Fat-tha. Be sure to put a hyphen between the T's otherwise someone might think you're trying to say fatha, which I assume to be the gangsta way of saying father.
3. Have big muscles. Nobody would ever fuck around with someone with big muscles. If your opposition has bigger muscles than you, apply Photoshop.
4. Maintain your superiority by repeatedly calling your opposition demeaning names like "stupid" or "asshat." The more creative your names the quicker your victory. An example of a great creative name would be, for example, "Mr. Dumbshoe McStupidpants".
4. Whenever the opposition brings up a valid point, tell your opposition to shut the fuck up and then bring up a new point before your opposition can recover from the last crippling blow.
5. If things get bleak, copy and paste (Ctrl-C, Ctrl-V) this:
"Look, I don't have time to deal with stupid dumbshoes like you. Get the fuck out of my house."
6. However, if you have fought a sucessful battle up to this point, now would be a great time to deliver the finishing blow. This comes in the form of a witty one-liner, such as "I win." or "Game over." Finish him.
7. At this point, your opponent will be in tears, and then you can call him an emo. Fatality.
8. You are right. Repeat numerous times to gain "always right" status.
Arthur Lee on 8:48 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,September 21st, 2004
Caution
A word to the wise:
STAY OFF THE FUCKING ROADS.
STAY OFF THE FUCKING ROADS.
Arthur Lee on 11:54 am 0 comments
Sunday,September 19th, 2004
Koreans
First of all let me start this off by saying if black people are allowed to call each other the n-word, then as a Korean I reserve the right to call other Koreans any derrogatory terms referring to Korean people that start with an n. However, as there is no such term, I will redeem my credits towards a post that ridicules my culture and my people.
Korean people are, by nature, pugnacious people. The word pugnacious means inclined towards fighting, and I know this because I'm Korean and therefore I've attended many years of SAT classes. Anyways, the reason Koreans are so publically violent can pretty much be summed up in the fact that they are even outside, because the only reason a Korean would ever be outside would be because their computer is broken, leaving them without an outlet to express their anger towards SAT classes and their inability to speak proper English, or in a word (or four) without Counter-Strike or StarCraft.
Which is why Koreans generally hang out in packs, in their trendy pants with buttons on the sides and their fashionable bright green modern-art-esque t-shirts. Because when you're inside the house playing StarCraft all the time, you pretty much have no muscles. Think of it like this: Remember Jurassic Park 2: The Lost World how there were those little tiny dinosaurs called Compsognathus? Remember how they were pretty pussy until they got together and totally owned that guy while he was taking a piss? That's basically Koreans in a nutshell: everyone's a pussy, but put 30 pussies together and you've got a group of men that can take down a guy while he's taking a piss.
And then there are Koreans who break dance. I would write an elaborate paragraph convincing you that breeak dancing is terrible, but I think the movie "You Got Served" does the same thing, except better.
The reason Korean girls date white guys isn't because they like white guys. It's not even because Asian guys have small dicks. The reason Korean girls go out with white guys is because all the Korean boys die in Cyber Cafes after spending two consecutive days playing StarCraft. God's gift to mankind. And anyways, a Korean boy would probably much rather marry a Zergling or some retarded StarCraft shit like that.
And so I say LET Kim Jong Il fire his nukes. If I know anything about Koreans (and being a Korean, I do) it's that they're fucking lazy slobs (I mean, look at me). And as such, a Korean nuke featuring great Koreariffic worksmanship would probably explode prematurely, killing everyone in Korea and leaving the world a happy place. But the explosion wouldn't even work because some lazy Korean bastard would have cut corners and half-assedly included the explosive element.
So what can you do? Sadly, there's nothing you can really do about Koreans (without facing years in prison at least). The best thing you can do is buy him a copy of StarCraft or Counter-Strike: Condition Zero, because that's one sure fire way to make sure they never venture outside of their home again. And as an extra bonus they'll probably end up killing themselves after playing nonstop for two days. And in doing so you will have helped the world be a better place. How sweet.
Korean people are, by nature, pugnacious people. The word pugnacious means inclined towards fighting, and I know this because I'm Korean and therefore I've attended many years of SAT classes. Anyways, the reason Koreans are so publically violent can pretty much be summed up in the fact that they are even outside, because the only reason a Korean would ever be outside would be because their computer is broken, leaving them without an outlet to express their anger towards SAT classes and their inability to speak proper English, or in a word (or four) without Counter-Strike or StarCraft.
Which is why Koreans generally hang out in packs, in their trendy pants with buttons on the sides and their fashionable bright green modern-art-esque t-shirts. Because when you're inside the house playing StarCraft all the time, you pretty much have no muscles. Think of it like this: Remember Jurassic Park 2: The Lost World how there were those little tiny dinosaurs called Compsognathus? Remember how they were pretty pussy until they got together and totally owned that guy while he was taking a piss? That's basically Koreans in a nutshell: everyone's a pussy, but put 30 pussies together and you've got a group of men that can take down a guy while he's taking a piss.
And then there are Koreans who break dance. I would write an elaborate paragraph convincing you that breeak dancing is terrible, but I think the movie "You Got Served" does the same thing, except better.
The reason Korean girls date white guys isn't because they like white guys. It's not even because Asian guys have small dicks. The reason Korean girls go out with white guys is because all the Korean boys die in Cyber Cafes after spending two consecutive days playing StarCraft. God's gift to mankind. And anyways, a Korean boy would probably much rather marry a Zergling or some retarded StarCraft shit like that.
And so I say LET Kim Jong Il fire his nukes. If I know anything about Koreans (and being a Korean, I do) it's that they're fucking lazy slobs (I mean, look at me). And as such, a Korean nuke featuring great Koreariffic worksmanship would probably explode prematurely, killing everyone in Korea and leaving the world a happy place. But the explosion wouldn't even work because some lazy Korean bastard would have cut corners and half-assedly included the explosive element.
So what can you do? Sadly, there's nothing you can really do about Koreans (without facing years in prison at least). The best thing you can do is buy him a copy of StarCraft or Counter-Strike: Condition Zero, because that's one sure fire way to make sure they never venture outside of their home again. And as an extra bonus they'll probably end up killing themselves after playing nonstop for two days. And in doing so you will have helped the world be a better place. How sweet.
Arthur Lee on 8:39 pm 0 comments
Sims 2
Sims is one of those games where you really can't lose in. And yet, I kind of managed to do that.
Case in point, the Opresuier Family, and its two members, Hitler and Stalin.
So Hitler and Stalin start off awesome. They live in a piece of shit house with absolutely nothing in it, which is cool. Hitler makes Stalin a ham sandwich and they both eat lunch and you're laughing your ass off.
But then they start talking to each other. And then they hug. And then they start flirting.
The Sims is one of those games where you really can't lose, but when two oppressive dictators start fucking each other only two words come to my mind: Game Over.
Case in point, the Opresuier Family, and its two members, Hitler and Stalin.
So Hitler and Stalin start off awesome. They live in a piece of shit house with absolutely nothing in it, which is cool. Hitler makes Stalin a ham sandwich and they both eat lunch and you're laughing your ass off.
But then they start talking to each other. And then they hug. And then they start flirting.
The Sims is one of those games where you really can't lose, but when two oppressive dictators start fucking each other only two words come to my mind: Game Over.
Arthur Lee on 7:11 pm 0 comments
Saturday,September 18th, 2004
Hero
My dad completely misses the point of things sometimes.
Arthur Lee on 7:27 pm 0 comments
Napoleon Dynamite
Napoleon Dynamite is by far the single best movie ever created. Can you IMAGINE reading the script for this thing?:
"[UNCLE RICO throws a STEAK at NAPOLEON DYNAMITE]"
If that alone doesn't justify the price of a ticket, then you're banned from my site forever, and also you're probably ugly.
"[UNCLE RICO throws a STEAK at NAPOLEON DYNAMITE]"
If that alone doesn't justify the price of a ticket, then you're banned from my site forever, and also you're probably ugly.
Arthur Lee on 7:03 pm 0 comments
Thursday,September 16th, 2004
Ching Chong Chinaman
What sucks about being Asian is that you're always Chinese.
You see, white people are pretty dumb. They know what America is. But it's the stuff outside of America that gets them confused. You know, all those little countries with their... names, and stuff. And we all know the American way: cut every corner. Consider the corners cut:
See, all Asians have tiny slit eyes. And when they speak their languages they say "ching chang chong." And they're all good at math. So OBVIOUSLY they're the same people.
So here's a true story, a white guy comes up to me one day and asks me what I am. And I was like "I'm a human fucking being, stupid." And then he asks "Are you Chinese?" and I say no. And then he asks me "Then what kind of Chinese are you?"
... I tell him I'm Korean.
"Do you speak Asian at home?"
"Do you speak White at home?"
"No, I speak English, what about you?"
"I speak English."
"No I mean what do you speak mostly at home. Is it like Chinese?"
At this point I would have kicked his ass, but then he would ask me if I knew Kung Fu, so I told him to fuck off and I went away.
So anyways, ching chang chong, ching ching chang chang chong. Ching chang chong. White people fucking suck.
You see, white people are pretty dumb. They know what America is. But it's the stuff outside of America that gets them confused. You know, all those little countries with their... names, and stuff. And we all know the American way: cut every corner. Consider the corners cut:
See, all Asians have tiny slit eyes. And when they speak their languages they say "ching chang chong." And they're all good at math. So OBVIOUSLY they're the same people.
So here's a true story, a white guy comes up to me one day and asks me what I am. And I was like "I'm a human fucking being, stupid." And then he asks "Are you Chinese?" and I say no. And then he asks me "Then what kind of Chinese are you?"
... I tell him I'm Korean.
"Do you speak Asian at home?"
"Do you speak White at home?"
"No, I speak English, what about you?"
"I speak English."
"No I mean what do you speak mostly at home. Is it like Chinese?"
At this point I would have kicked his ass, but then he would ask me if I knew Kung Fu, so I told him to fuck off and I went away.
So anyways, ching chang chong, ching ching chang chang chong. Ching chang chong. White people fucking suck.
Arthur Lee on 7:55 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,September 14th, 2004
Explanation and Exploitation
Okay, so yeah, a lot of you probably notice the lack of updates here lately, and regarding that I'd like to feed you a totally bullshit answer.
The reason my site's been a bit inactive (as opposed to me churning out morsels of hilarity every night like I used to) is because with school going on and stuff I don't have the energy to stay up as late anymore.
See when it's in the afternoon, your mind is busy as shit. You have to get your homework finished, you're talking with your friends, you're thinking about lunch, and all this time you're staring at some hot Asian girl. With all that crap going on there's no time left to dedicate to being an asshole. Unless of course, you're a bitch in which 99.9% of your life pretty much revolves around being an asshole and the other .1 percent is used trying to keep track of how many people you've fucked (PROTIP: probably 0).
But see, when it's really late you're in a dark room, just sitting. And inevitably something that annoys you is going to pop into your head. And being so late at night, you don't have to look over your shoulder every time you type the F word, and not only that but you can completely devote yourself to your mockery.
So yeah, besides that, the observation of today is: Anytime you ever mention anybody's name ever on your website, that person is bound to see it and inevitably talk to you about it.
That's where my ingenuity comes in. See, if I figure if I write about random girls with hot sounding names, one of them will be bound to talk to me. From there I can build a relationship that will inevitably lead to love, which will lead to a restraining order.
So here it goes: Roxy is an amazingingly deep person. Yuki, on the other hand, is such a terrible bitch, as is her best friend, Yuri. Or at least that's what Cherry told me after Charolette left. Caroline, Kristen, Karen, Dana, Gloria, etc. etc.
Now I wait.
The reason my site's been a bit inactive (as opposed to me churning out morsels of hilarity every night like I used to) is because with school going on and stuff I don't have the energy to stay up as late anymore.
See when it's in the afternoon, your mind is busy as shit. You have to get your homework finished, you're talking with your friends, you're thinking about lunch, and all this time you're staring at some hot Asian girl. With all that crap going on there's no time left to dedicate to being an asshole. Unless of course, you're a bitch in which 99.9% of your life pretty much revolves around being an asshole and the other .1 percent is used trying to keep track of how many people you've fucked (PROTIP: probably 0).
But see, when it's really late you're in a dark room, just sitting. And inevitably something that annoys you is going to pop into your head. And being so late at night, you don't have to look over your shoulder every time you type the F word, and not only that but you can completely devote yourself to your mockery.
So yeah, besides that, the observation of today is: Anytime you ever mention anybody's name ever on your website, that person is bound to see it and inevitably talk to you about it.
That's where my ingenuity comes in. See, if I figure if I write about random girls with hot sounding names, one of them will be bound to talk to me. From there I can build a relationship that will inevitably lead to love, which will lead to a restraining order.
So here it goes: Roxy is an amazingingly deep person. Yuki, on the other hand, is such a terrible bitch, as is her best friend, Yuri. Or at least that's what Cherry told me after Charolette left. Caroline, Kristen, Karen, Dana, Gloria, etc. etc.
Now I wait.
Arthur Lee on 8:32 pm 0 comments
Thursday,September 09th, 2004
School House Rock
In a totally predictable fashion, I'm going to write about my first day of school (which was technically yesterday, but to me it's not because I'm still awake and I'm so awesome I decide when the day starts and ends.)
So I come to school, feeling awesome because I'm a senior now. I peer from my throne atop the high-school grade-level hierarchy and I shit down on all the peons below, those juniors, sophomores, and freshman. I am the king of the school, and what I say goes.
Or so you would believe. But then you would be terribly wrong. Because you see, highschool has these things called rules. These rules dictate that punching someone for no reason is absolutely prohibited. In fact, punching someone for a good reason is also prohibited. The same apparently goes for kicking, shooting, and chainsawing. What a crap school.
So here I am, a senior. Stripped of my power by the bigwigs and the Concerned Parents who try their best to maintain a mental image of a highschool where boys and girls of every race, color, and creed hold hands as they walk down the non-segregated hallways to their next class, where everybody is attentive and the teachers are all competent. In their minds, the school day starts with the Pledge of Allegiance, version two:
"I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under nobody, indivisible with liberty and justice for all.
Nobody bless America. We will always remember. I am proud to be an American."
Anyways, I totally didn't get to kick any freshman ass. School is crap.
Another thing the Board of Education (more like the Board of Bored Concerned Parents) concluded was the huge risk of new technology (sophisticatedly called "camera-phones") which helped facilitate cheating, as well as other illegal acts, such as taking pictures in the dressing rooms and being posted online (Oh, of course, we ALL had that idea in our head. We LOVE uploading nude pictures of our naked friends.) Of course, this totally could not have been done using existing technology, "cameras" as I have heard professionals call them. Perhaps these camera phone could be used to transmit data regarding key points in the structure of the highschool, perhaps to be used by terrorists to scout out locations to place explosives. Afterall, the country IS in Terror Alert Extreme, or whatever color it was. As such, there is absolutely no phone usage at all during school hours. The Board of Education is happy. Meanwhile, rebellious teen students really don't give a shit and are making calls anyways. The Board of Education is crap. Being rebellious owns the Board of Education.
As for my classes? Let's just say that my day starts off being taught by a man in an apron. An apron. And he's not even a cook. Enough said. School is crap.
My friends are all absent as well, sucking each others faces like facehuggers, laying their eggs in each others' esophaguses to gestate and produce some xenomorph that will eat through their chestplate and totally own them and their colleagues as well. The guys that are left are standing around complaining about the "nerds over there talking about Starcraft." and then resuming their discussion of Warcraft III. Friends with significant otherss are crap, and so are nerds.
One of my teachers has this disgusting spit buildup on the side of her mouth when she talks too much. The whole period I just wanted to punch her and wipe her mouth while she was unconscious, but apparently the Board of Stupid People decided punching teachers is also unacceptable. So is touching a teacher's mouth, I imagine.
And what's worse was the fact that there were no ladies from Tierra Del Fuego (The Land of Fire). Otherwise I would have been able to pass time with my imagination. But apparently that's prohibited as well.
In summation: School is crap. I have an essay tomorrow on two books that I read in a half conscious state at 4:00 in the morning. Go me.
So I come to school, feeling awesome because I'm a senior now. I peer from my throne atop the high-school grade-level hierarchy and I shit down on all the peons below, those juniors, sophomores, and freshman. I am the king of the school, and what I say goes.
Or so you would believe. But then you would be terribly wrong. Because you see, highschool has these things called rules. These rules dictate that punching someone for no reason is absolutely prohibited. In fact, punching someone for a good reason is also prohibited. The same apparently goes for kicking, shooting, and chainsawing. What a crap school.
So here I am, a senior. Stripped of my power by the bigwigs and the Concerned Parents who try their best to maintain a mental image of a highschool where boys and girls of every race, color, and creed hold hands as they walk down the non-segregated hallways to their next class, where everybody is attentive and the teachers are all competent. In their minds, the school day starts with the Pledge of Allegiance, version two:
"I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under nobody, indivisible with liberty and justice for all.
Nobody bless America. We will always remember. I am proud to be an American."
Anyways, I totally didn't get to kick any freshman ass. School is crap.
Another thing the Board of Education (more like the Board of Bored Concerned Parents) concluded was the huge risk of new technology (sophisticatedly called "camera-phones") which helped facilitate cheating, as well as other illegal acts, such as taking pictures in the dressing rooms and being posted online (Oh, of course, we ALL had that idea in our head. We LOVE uploading nude pictures of our naked friends.) Of course, this totally could not have been done using existing technology, "cameras" as I have heard professionals call them. Perhaps these camera phone could be used to transmit data regarding key points in the structure of the highschool, perhaps to be used by terrorists to scout out locations to place explosives. Afterall, the country IS in Terror Alert Extreme, or whatever color it was. As such, there is absolutely no phone usage at all during school hours. The Board of Education is happy. Meanwhile, rebellious teen students really don't give a shit and are making calls anyways. The Board of Education is crap. Being rebellious owns the Board of Education.
As for my classes? Let's just say that my day starts off being taught by a man in an apron. An apron. And he's not even a cook. Enough said. School is crap.
My friends are all absent as well, sucking each others faces like facehuggers, laying their eggs in each others' esophaguses to gestate and produce some xenomorph that will eat through their chestplate and totally own them and their colleagues as well. The guys that are left are standing around complaining about the "nerds over there talking about Starcraft." and then resuming their discussion of Warcraft III. Friends with significant otherss are crap, and so are nerds.
One of my teachers has this disgusting spit buildup on the side of her mouth when she talks too much. The whole period I just wanted to punch her and wipe her mouth while she was unconscious, but apparently the Board of Stupid People decided punching teachers is also unacceptable. So is touching a teacher's mouth, I imagine.
And what's worse was the fact that there were no ladies from Tierra Del Fuego (The Land of Fire). Otherwise I would have been able to pass time with my imagination. But apparently that's prohibited as well.
In summation: School is crap. I have an essay tomorrow on two books that I read in a half conscious state at 4:00 in the morning. Go me.
Arthur Lee on 8:13 pm 0 comments
Thursday,September 02nd, 2004
Fight Club? Take that club and shove it up your ass.
If there's one movie I really hate, it's Fight Club. Not because it's bad, but because I don't get it. I honestly feel like a Goth watching Sesame Street, looking puzzled at the way everyone's mouths are curved upwards. What are they doing? What's happening?
So in the beginning you have two characters, and already one is pointing a gun at the other and you're thinking "Man this movie kicks ass." Then he says "When you have a gun in your mouth, YOU CAN ONLY TALK IN VOWELS" and you're like "O [Y] O A O U." Then it flashes back like in like all of Tarantino's movies and you're like "Tarantino kicks ass and by extension, this movie kicks ass." Not only that, but the flashback starts with tits on the screen.
The things you like to fuck end up liking to fuck you. Meet Bob. And his tits. Then Brad Pitt comes on the screen and your female friends are all "OMG THIS MOVIE ROCKS" and are passionately rubbing their breasts while you and your male friends are all "This movie sucks" and are punching your penises repeatedly JUST IN CASE they accidentally get erect (meaning you're gay, but hey, I won't judge you, even if your family does).
Then he says some random artistic bullshit that makes absolutely no sense, but of course you pretend not to know that. And hell, it sounds so obscure that it MUST be sophisticated and deep. Of course you've also got an image to maintain, and not wanting to look like an idiot in front of your friends you pretend to understand and maybe even say "Ah" just to make your other friends feel dumber.
So the movie goes on and then people start punching each other for no reason. Then out of nowhere it's a terrorist organization.
Then at the end, you find out two of characters were really one, and so one of them shoots himself in the head and you're kind of feeling jealous.
You find out that one of the two characters doesn't doesn't die, but for some reason the other one does. What? So while you're thinking about it, a bunch of buildings blow up. And as a final shit in your face, while you're wondering what the fuck just happened, you get a nice full-size penis on the screen for a split second.
I am Jack's complete lack of comprehension.
Arthur Lee on 8:16 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,September 01st, 2004
Back from the Dead
SFDR is back up. You can stop crying now.
Arthur Lee on 10:14 pm 0 comments
Sunday,August 22nd, 2004
The comprehensive guide to not looking like a total fucking moron online.
YOUR != YOU'RE.
Arthur Lee on 11:41 am 0 comments
Saturday,August 21st, 2004
Yatta!
Arthur Lee on 11:06 am 0 comments
Friday,August 20th, 2004
Girls suxx
Talking to girls online is like talking to boys who can't take a fucking joke. I swear it's as if all of a sudden it became socially unacceptable to say that you like fornification + dead chicks. And that's not even the joke part. Then you have to worry about watching your mouth because girls have never ever heard the f-word, or the b-word, or the c-word (CILF - Corpse I'd Like [to] Fuck).
What's worse is that they expect you to be the funniest thing since slice bread (which is pretty fucking funny if you think about where it's located on a sandwich; the top and bottom LOL). Sometimes you'll say something completely serious like "9/11" and they'll be all "lolz" because that's what girls say when you tell them a shitty joke. The z at the end is just like an s, but it's more x-treme. Or would it be z-treme.
Another reason girls are terrible to talk to is airplane food. I mean what's the deal with airplane food? It's like food on an airplane. And like it's not ev0rji9aw0jawfejioweofawefojaefowamvvvvvmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Hey guys remind me never to let Seinfeld touch my computer again, thanks. Now someone help me dispose of this corpse. After a good pumpin'.
What's worse is that they expect you to be the funniest thing since slice bread (which is pretty fucking funny if you think about where it's located on a sandwich; the top and bottom LOL). Sometimes you'll say something completely serious like "9/11" and they'll be all "lolz" because that's what girls say when you tell them a shitty joke. The z at the end is just like an s, but it's more x-treme. Or would it be z-treme.
Another reason girls are terrible to talk to is airplane food. I mean what's the deal with airplane food? It's like food on an airplane. And like it's not ev0rji9aw0jawfejioweofawefojaefowamvvvvvmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Hey guys remind me never to let Seinfeld touch my computer again, thanks. Now someone help me dispose of this corpse. After a good pumpin'.
Arthur Lee on 6:54 am 0 comments
Tuesday,August 17th, 2004
How I became successful.
A long time ago I used to be nice, and I did not have many friends. The friends I did have were all Asian and one of them was named Winston. All he ever did, EVER was complain about how he hated people who played Counter-Strike and how they thought it was just like real life. As you can tell, I was totally hip.
Anyways, eventually they totally told me to fuck off because I was "annoying" (They meant to say "awesome") so I was all "terrorists win" and I decided to hang out with girls.
I'm going to skip this part of my life because hanging out with girls is totally gay.
Eventually, I ended up being really angry at a lot of stuff and people and I started being an asshole and then people started laughing. It was then that I realized that the only way to make friends was to horribly mistreat them.
I could make anything funny. One time I combed my hair to the side and drew myself a fake mustache and pretended to be Hitler. Everyone laughed. Even my Jewish friends laughed. But then I remembered I didn't have any Jewish friends because they were too busy watching Seinfeld, who is Jewish and thus complains about EVERYTHING.
Eventually it got to the point where I would tell someone to fuck off and they would give me a blowjob. Life was good. Until ONE DAY, one of my friends asked why I was such an asshole to him.
His name was Sam and I made fun of him on my website and everyone laughed.
Anyways, eventually they totally told me to fuck off because I was "annoying" (They meant to say "awesome") so I was all "terrorists win" and I decided to hang out with girls.
I'm going to skip this part of my life because hanging out with girls is totally gay.
Eventually, I ended up being really angry at a lot of stuff and people and I started being an asshole and then people started laughing. It was then that I realized that the only way to make friends was to horribly mistreat them.
I could make anything funny. One time I combed my hair to the side and drew myself a fake mustache and pretended to be Hitler. Everyone laughed. Even my Jewish friends laughed. But then I remembered I didn't have any Jewish friends because they were too busy watching Seinfeld, who is Jewish and thus complains about EVERYTHING.
Eventually it got to the point where I would tell someone to fuck off and they would give me a blowjob. Life was good. Until ONE DAY, one of my friends asked why I was such an asshole to him.
His name was Sam and I made fun of him on my website and everyone laughed.
Arthur Lee on 9:36 pm 0 comments
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Arthur Lee on 8:16 pm 0 comments
Monday,August 16th, 2004
Spam
If there's one thing good about spam, it's that it's always so easy to spot out. That's not to say the spammers don't try to hide it. Sometimes they send me the stuff pretending it's from someone I know. But I'm no dummy. I know that none of my friends have ever seen my penis, and so they would not be in any position to offer drugs or services that would "INCREASE YOUR SIZE" and/or "MAXIMIZE HER PLEASURE."
The spammers also are really good at trying to fool me. Sometimes they type in L337, maybe to avoid detection by spam engines, but I'm sure it's also because they know how L337 H4X0R (That means LEET HAXOR" for all of you UNL337 people) of a person I am. So sometimes the subjects are like "BUY GEN3R1C V1AGR4" and I'm like "|_0|_ /\/0 7|-|4/\/XX" and then I hack their computers.
Other times they're hard to spot is when I get emails that say (and I quote) "You have written a very good text, excellent, good work!"
Other times they make it really obvious they're spammers. For instance, this spam e-mail is obviously fake: "Let'us be short: you have no experience in writing letters!!!"
Anyways, a few ways to avoid getting spam. You should watch out where you put your email address online, since computer bots search the web for email addresses and then spaminate you. Also, if you ever get an attachment, check the file extension. If it ends with .scr, then delete it. .com and .exes are also dangerous. If any email ever has a URL, even if it looks authentic, be sure it's real by hovering your mouse over the link and then looking at the bottom bar. Also, never ever respond to spam, and never click on those unsubscribe buttons because they'll probably subject you to more spam.
On an unrelated sidenote, how awful would it be if the goatse man did a tub girl?
The spammers also are really good at trying to fool me. Sometimes they type in L337, maybe to avoid detection by spam engines, but I'm sure it's also because they know how L337 H4X0R (That means LEET HAXOR" for all of you UNL337 people) of a person I am. So sometimes the subjects are like "BUY GEN3R1C V1AGR4" and I'm like "|_0|_ /\/0 7|-|4/\/XX" and then I hack their computers.
Other times they're hard to spot is when I get emails that say (and I quote) "You have written a very good text, excellent, good work!"
Other times they make it really obvious they're spammers. For instance, this spam e-mail is obviously fake: "Let'us be short: you have no experience in writing letters!!!"
Anyways, a few ways to avoid getting spam. You should watch out where you put your email address online, since computer bots search the web for email addresses and then spaminate you. Also, if you ever get an attachment, check the file extension. If it ends with .scr, then delete it. .com and .exes are also dangerous. If any email ever has a URL, even if it looks authentic, be sure it's real by hovering your mouse over the link and then looking at the bottom bar. Also, never ever respond to spam, and never click on those unsubscribe buttons because they'll probably subject you to more spam.
On an unrelated sidenote, how awful would it be if the goatse man did a tub girl?
Arthur Lee on 10:21 pm 0 comments
Thursday,August 12th, 2004
KAWAII DESU KA KEKEKEKE
There's nothing that pisses me off more than caucasian anime fanboys. Now don't get me wrong, all anime fanboys are terrible, but caucasian ones take the cake (because most of them are fat and enjoy eating cake as well as entire cows). These people are like fucking Jihad terrorists, willing to sacrifice their social lives to defend a shitty cause (probably why Dragonball Z is better than Dragonball GT).
Like Goths, these guys travel in packs, but whereas Goths will sit around and bemoan the fact that you are throwing your lunch condiments at them, the anime fanboys will actually try to fight back. This usually involves them ripping their shirts and putting mustard in their hair and becoming "Super Saiyan Level 5." That's when you can make fun of their pot bellies and mantits and then totally kick their asses. After you leave, they'll probably say some stupid shit like "Man, if only I had Goku's Spirit Bomb. I could so totally burn that jerk."
What's worse is when you try to approach one in conversation. Sometimes they'll even forget they're white and start using completely Japanese words like "kawaii" (Hawaii) and "baka" (chicken noise). I figured this out because some fat white kid was acting like a pussy so I called him a chicken and he said "baka." The kawaii part I just guessed but I'm 99.99% sure it's right because I'm 100% right, always.
When you're online, you can always tell someone is a caucasian anime fanboy because they will have a completely Japanese name, like SuzukaMiyagi. I mean how many people do you know that use their full name as their username?
They'll also take as many opportunities as they can to assert their Japaneseness by using Japanese emoticons (^_^ -_- ;_; T_T). It's pretty funny when one of their close friends comes online while they're gone and says "Sorry, Bobby's not here, this is his friend" or when their away message says "brb out playing croquet." Hah, Japanese people playing croquet is like white people passing Algebra 1.
Then again, I'd be lying, since most fanboys have no friends (real ones at least). I mean what kind of friends would you attract when the love of your life is a fourteen year old looking cyborg? NONE.
One time I was inside of a Japanese manga/anime store (it's okay for me to be there, since I'm Asian, see) and I saw these two HUGE white guys arguing over mech designs. I left the store quickly, but I assume that the arguement ended up with the two going to a Japanese love-hotel and making love to each other, since they both know they'll never be kissed by anything else.
AND THEN they draw crappy pictures with huge sparkly eyes and show their new 'anime' creations to other untalented friends. Sickening.
Anyways, I think the best way to counter this twisted revolution is to memorize a complex Japanese phrase, then recite it to a fanboy. They will try to understand what you are saying but then they will be like "Huh?" and at this point you can call them a poser and then kick their balls/saggy boobs. If they actually understand what you say, kick them in the face. That'll teach them to think for themselves.
Like Goths, these guys travel in packs, but whereas Goths will sit around and bemoan the fact that you are throwing your lunch condiments at them, the anime fanboys will actually try to fight back. This usually involves them ripping their shirts and putting mustard in their hair and becoming "Super Saiyan Level 5." That's when you can make fun of their pot bellies and mantits and then totally kick their asses. After you leave, they'll probably say some stupid shit like "Man, if only I had Goku's Spirit Bomb. I could so totally burn that jerk."
What's worse is when you try to approach one in conversation. Sometimes they'll even forget they're white and start using completely Japanese words like "kawaii" (Hawaii) and "baka" (chicken noise). I figured this out because some fat white kid was acting like a pussy so I called him a chicken and he said "baka." The kawaii part I just guessed but I'm 99.99% sure it's right because I'm 100% right, always.
When you're online, you can always tell someone is a caucasian anime fanboy because they will have a completely Japanese name, like SuzukaMiyagi. I mean how many people do you know that use their full name as their username?
They'll also take as many opportunities as they can to assert their Japaneseness by using Japanese emoticons (^_^ -_- ;_; T_T). It's pretty funny when one of their close friends comes online while they're gone and says "Sorry, Bobby's not here, this is his friend" or when their away message says "brb out playing croquet." Hah, Japanese people playing croquet is like white people passing Algebra 1.
Then again, I'd be lying, since most fanboys have no friends (real ones at least). I mean what kind of friends would you attract when the love of your life is a fourteen year old looking cyborg? NONE.
One time I was inside of a Japanese manga/anime store (it's okay for me to be there, since I'm Asian, see) and I saw these two HUGE white guys arguing over mech designs. I left the store quickly, but I assume that the arguement ended up with the two going to a Japanese love-hotel and making love to each other, since they both know they'll never be kissed by anything else.
AND THEN they draw crappy pictures with huge sparkly eyes and show their new 'anime' creations to other untalented friends. Sickening.
Anyways, I think the best way to counter this twisted revolution is to memorize a complex Japanese phrase, then recite it to a fanboy. They will try to understand what you are saying but then they will be like "Huh?" and at this point you can call them a poser and then kick their balls/saggy boobs. If they actually understand what you say, kick them in the face. That'll teach them to think for themselves.
Arthur Lee on 10:44 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,August 11th, 2004
Forums
Arthur Lee on 1:10 am 0 comments
Monday,August 09th, 2004
Jay Kay.
Man, if there's one phrase I owe it to to let me get away with telling people awful things without being a total asshole to them it's the phrase "just kidding" (or as I say, "jaykin' bacon"). It's great because you can say something really really awful and gruesome to someone, and as long as you stick the jk there at the end it's a joke. And the other person is obligated to type something like "lol" (lolz if it's a girl) or "haha" (jsjs if it's a girl) otherwise that would just be rude. It's like taking a shit on someone's face and then them paying you for it. Awesome.
Even still, it's pretty obvious when someone's trying to tell you something though. First of all, the phrase won't be funny at all. Observe:
"So a horse walks into a bar, and the bartender says,'Why the long face?' ... and the horse says,'Because I ran into a fucking bar.' Just kidding."
vs.
"Man, you're fucking ugly. Just kidding."
Obviously, you being ugly is the joke and the horse shit is the truth.
Another way you can tell is because it'll come out of nowhere and most of them time be something that you would ordinarily be bitterly opposed to. I don't know how many times I've told girls that I wanted to have wild sex with them and then told them I was kidding. Just kidding.
The last way you can tell is if it's too specific. I mean saying "Man, I hope you get raped. Just kidding" and "Man, I hope you get raped on the way back home from school on the 2nd of May at 3:15 P.M. Just Kidding" are obviously two different things. Unless of course that person likes surprises. And who doesn't?
Just kidding is so great because you can test someone's reaction to something without really making any commitments. You can tell your girlfriend that you really think it's time for your first threesome, and then you pause a little, as if you're about to sneeze or something clever like that (maybe pretend like you're having a seizure or if you want brownie points, say that you were stunned by her/his beautiful eye(s)). And she'll either say "Yes, take me and my girlfriends NOW" or "What the fuck." That's a 50/50 chance, I like it. And if she says "What the fuck", you could pull some sly shit by saying "LOL dude I was just kidding about that!" Then he/she'll say "LOL" too, and you'll probably dump your boyfriend/girlfriend.
Anyways, It's 4:30, and I'm really really tired. I hope you guys all die in a plane crash. Just kidding.
P.S. U.S. Government, please don't arrest me for saying 'die in a plane crash.' I'm not Middle Eastern, so you obviously have no reason to arrest me (OOH I BURNED THE GOVERNMENT).
Even still, it's pretty obvious when someone's trying to tell you something though. First of all, the phrase won't be funny at all. Observe:
"So a horse walks into a bar, and the bartender says,'Why the long face?' ... and the horse says,'Because I ran into a fucking bar.' Just kidding."
vs.
"Man, you're fucking ugly. Just kidding."
Obviously, you being ugly is the joke and the horse shit is the truth.
Another way you can tell is because it'll come out of nowhere and most of them time be something that you would ordinarily be bitterly opposed to. I don't know how many times I've told girls that I wanted to have wild sex with them and then told them I was kidding. Just kidding.
The last way you can tell is if it's too specific. I mean saying "Man, I hope you get raped. Just kidding" and "Man, I hope you get raped on the way back home from school on the 2nd of May at 3:15 P.M. Just Kidding" are obviously two different things. Unless of course that person likes surprises. And who doesn't?
Just kidding is so great because you can test someone's reaction to something without really making any commitments. You can tell your girlfriend that you really think it's time for your first threesome, and then you pause a little, as if you're about to sneeze or something clever like that (maybe pretend like you're having a seizure or if you want brownie points, say that you were stunned by her/his beautiful eye(s)). And she'll either say "Yes, take me and my girlfriends NOW" or "What the fuck." That's a 50/50 chance, I like it. And if she says "What the fuck", you could pull some sly shit by saying "LOL dude I was just kidding about that!" Then he/she'll say "LOL" too, and you'll probably dump your boyfriend/girlfriend.
Anyways, It's 4:30, and I'm really really tired. I hope you guys all die in a plane crash. Just kidding.
P.S. U.S. Government, please don't arrest me for saying 'die in a plane crash.' I'm not Middle Eastern, so you obviously have no reason to arrest me (OOH I BURNED THE GOVERNMENT).
Arthur Lee on 11:26 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,August 03rd, 2004
My completely unbiased review of Doom III
After successfully buying Doom III on my favorite peer to peer file sharing network and installing the latest completely legal modified update patch, I have finally downloaded in a matter of hours the culmination of years upon years of hard work and a little nerd named John Carmack. I love the internet.
Anyways, Doom III. Doom III is actually an abbrevation for Dark Room III. The reason it's called this is because there are lots of dark rooms that show off the latest in shadow displaying technology. And why shouldn't there be? After all, the programmers at iD Software spent years trying to fake what I can create in a nanosecond in real life by putting my hand in front of a light bulb.
Luckily, the developers at iD Software also made a "flashlight." In a stroke of genius, you can't shoot when it's on. That's probably because they wanted to show off their shadow displaying technology. On the other hand, you can swing the flashlight at monsters, but it makes the screen dark for a second or so, so you can admire the shadows.
The game also features bump mapping, which is named that way because the first time you see it in action, you will have a huge bump mapped onto your pelvis. Also, the zombies you shoot have bumps on their pelvises too, thanks to wonderful bump mapping. This is also cool because when you shine a light on something with your flashlight, it looks bumpy. Completely worth the lives of the North Korean Slave Programmers who died programming it.
As for the story, I didn't really understand it, but that's probably because I never played Doom I and Doom II, which would probably explain a lot since I hear both of those games have excellent stories. All I know is that there was a scientist who you could tell was a good guy because he has sharp teeth and one (1) evil white pupil and has a really evil sounding voice. There are these other two guys, but they're gay because they're two guys hanging out together alone in dark rooms. And if that's not proof enough, one of them is holding a BFG. If you are new to the internet, I will help you understand by explaining that BFstands for boyfriend. G probably stands for gay, which is what they are.
Anyways, there's this one scientist and he's Asian and you know he's going to die because John Carmack is a nazi. He gets all crazy and all of this crazy shit happens and the Asian guy (I think his name was like Ching Chong) ends up being the first person you get to kill. Then there's lots of zombies. These zombies are kind of like the goth zombies because they're slow, but they're better than goths because the only thing they can mumble is "WHRERJWIORAR" instead of retarded gothic poetry. Most of the zombies are different. There's the regular zombie. Then there's the fat zombie who's like the regular zombie except he's funnier because he's fat. Then you have these zombies that jump on you instead of hitting you. Then you have these zombies that hit you with tentacles instead of hands. And then you have these zombies that shoot you with guns and these other zombies that shoot you with guns that shoots slightly faster. All the while the good guy scientist is laughing on the loudspeaker (probably at a funny joke that is heard offscreen) and joking around like "You are going to die and join my legion of darkness!!!" He's just kidding though because if you die the game doesn't let you join his legion of darkness. There are a lot of dead things in the game too, and there are some things that are alive, but turn dead. It seem all of the scientists and marines are all lazy too because they are always too busy or hurt to follow you.
There are lots of guns in Doom III as well. There's your fists which you can use to punch things like a hamburger at someone, and then you have your flashlight which you shouldn't use because they'll miss out on the cool looking shadows. There's also a chainsaw which is cool because if there were trees on Mars (which there aren't) you would be able to cut them. There's also a pistol, but nobody uses that because it sucks. Then you have a machine gun that shoots fast. You later find a chain gun that is a completely unique weapon because instead of shooting right away, the gun has to spin up first. Afterwards it shoots the same amount of bullets as the machine gun at about the same rate. Then there's a plasma rifle that is like the machine gun except that it shoots out blue plasma, except it sucks because the plasma isn't lavender.
Doom III uses a new technology called Client/Server system which is a lot better than the P2P system. Using this new technology, Carmack successfully coded in a technologically groundbreaking 4 player maximum. The revolutionary gameplay modes consist of Half-Life Deathmatch, Half-Life Team Deathmatch, Counterstrike, and Tournament Mode.
If there's one thing this game lacks, it's the dehumanizing run and gun gameplay that had made Doom I and II such great targets for the media after school shootings.
Doom (Dark Room) III is pretty cheap at about sixty dollars. If you've ever just wanted to see how well your computer could render shadows, Doom III is great bargain (again at ONLY sixty dollars). But for the rest of us that have a fucking clue, just do yourself a favor and don't waste your money. "Buy" it, just like I did.
Anyways, Doom III. Doom III is actually an abbrevation for Dark Room III. The reason it's called this is because there are lots of dark rooms that show off the latest in shadow displaying technology. And why shouldn't there be? After all, the programmers at iD Software spent years trying to fake what I can create in a nanosecond in real life by putting my hand in front of a light bulb.
Luckily, the developers at iD Software also made a "flashlight." In a stroke of genius, you can't shoot when it's on. That's probably because they wanted to show off their shadow displaying technology. On the other hand, you can swing the flashlight at monsters, but it makes the screen dark for a second or so, so you can admire the shadows.
The game also features bump mapping, which is named that way because the first time you see it in action, you will have a huge bump mapped onto your pelvis. Also, the zombies you shoot have bumps on their pelvises too, thanks to wonderful bump mapping. This is also cool because when you shine a light on something with your flashlight, it looks bumpy. Completely worth the lives of the North Korean Slave Programmers who died programming it.
As for the story, I didn't really understand it, but that's probably because I never played Doom I and Doom II, which would probably explain a lot since I hear both of those games have excellent stories. All I know is that there was a scientist who you could tell was a good guy because he has sharp teeth and one (1) evil white pupil and has a really evil sounding voice. There are these other two guys, but they're gay because they're two guys hanging out together alone in dark rooms. And if that's not proof enough, one of them is holding a BFG. If you are new to the internet, I will help you understand by explaining that BFstands for boyfriend. G probably stands for gay, which is what they are.
Anyways, there's this one scientist and he's Asian and you know he's going to die because John Carmack is a nazi. He gets all crazy and all of this crazy shit happens and the Asian guy (I think his name was like Ching Chong) ends up being the first person you get to kill. Then there's lots of zombies. These zombies are kind of like the goth zombies because they're slow, but they're better than goths because the only thing they can mumble is "WHRERJWIORAR" instead of retarded gothic poetry. Most of the zombies are different. There's the regular zombie. Then there's the fat zombie who's like the regular zombie except he's funnier because he's fat. Then you have these zombies that jump on you instead of hitting you. Then you have these zombies that hit you with tentacles instead of hands. And then you have these zombies that shoot you with guns and these other zombies that shoot you with guns that shoots slightly faster. All the while the good guy scientist is laughing on the loudspeaker (probably at a funny joke that is heard offscreen) and joking around like "You are going to die and join my legion of darkness!!!" He's just kidding though because if you die the game doesn't let you join his legion of darkness. There are a lot of dead things in the game too, and there are some things that are alive, but turn dead. It seem all of the scientists and marines are all lazy too because they are always too busy or hurt to follow you.
There are lots of guns in Doom III as well. There's your fists which you can use to punch things like a hamburger at someone, and then you have your flashlight which you shouldn't use because they'll miss out on the cool looking shadows. There's also a chainsaw which is cool because if there were trees on Mars (which there aren't) you would be able to cut them. There's also a pistol, but nobody uses that because it sucks. Then you have a machine gun that shoots fast. You later find a chain gun that is a completely unique weapon because instead of shooting right away, the gun has to spin up first. Afterwards it shoots the same amount of bullets as the machine gun at about the same rate. Then there's a plasma rifle that is like the machine gun except that it shoots out blue plasma, except it sucks because the plasma isn't lavender.
Doom III uses a new technology called Client/Server system which is a lot better than the P2P system. Using this new technology, Carmack successfully coded in a technologically groundbreaking 4 player maximum. The revolutionary gameplay modes consist of Half-Life Deathmatch, Half-Life Team Deathmatch, Counterstrike, and Tournament Mode.
If there's one thing this game lacks, it's the dehumanizing run and gun gameplay that had made Doom I and II such great targets for the media after school shootings.
Doom (Dark Room) III is pretty cheap at about sixty dollars. If you've ever just wanted to see how well your computer could render shadows, Doom III is great bargain (again at ONLY sixty dollars). But for the rest of us that have a fucking clue, just do yourself a favor and don't waste your money. "Buy" it, just like I did.
Arthur Lee on 11:57 pm 0 comments
Sunday,August 01st, 2004
Beautiful internet girls do not exist.
If you're fat and ugly (and I know most of you are) the internet is probably the best invention since the toilet that you puke into after every meal. Why? Because your online moniker (nickname, for all you vocabulary retards) is the only glimpse into your physical appearance that anyone can percieve (granted you don't fuck it up by buying a webcam). Literally hundreds of pounds can be eliminated from your body by deciding to be SkinnyMcThinLight as opposed to StarWarsFan666 or Al Kh'ela the Galliant Dark Elf. And even if you DO buy a webcam because you're a fathead, Adobe has this program called Photoshop that can increase the size of your penis and/or boobs (preferably boobs on the female gender though I am sure most of my male readers have boobs as well).
But along with this anonymity comes a harrowing realization.
They're doing it too.
So you know SuzukaMizuki in AnimeCon 2004 Internet Forums? Enter Dorothy Bigguns. 600 pounds. She's also about as Asian as wearing shoes in the house, despite the way she throws around the phrase "KAWAII ^^." Also she's growing a mustache and has a beard growing out of her armpits.
You know CSGamerGurl? More like Bob Ridley, age 51. His right wrist is huge. Probably from masturbating to all of the cute comments you say to him. His husband is dead.
Think of it this way: You (yourself) are huge and sweaty. Your colleagues are also huge and sweaty. Why would any attractive and intelligent girl willingly put herself in a danger zone? Would you walk into prison with with your asshole showing? Neither would she.
The internet, trust no one. Don't even trust me. In fact, don't trust me when I tell you not to trust me, thus creating a paradox from which you will never escape. That way I can shoot you and eliminate one more untrustworthy person from this vile planet of fakers.
But along with this anonymity comes a harrowing realization.
They're doing it too.
So you know SuzukaMizuki in AnimeCon 2004 Internet Forums? Enter Dorothy Bigguns. 600 pounds. She's also about as Asian as wearing shoes in the house, despite the way she throws around the phrase "KAWAII ^^." Also she's growing a mustache and has a beard growing out of her armpits.
You know CSGamerGurl? More like Bob Ridley, age 51. His right wrist is huge. Probably from masturbating to all of the cute comments you say to him. His husband is dead.
Think of it this way: You (yourself) are huge and sweaty. Your colleagues are also huge and sweaty. Why would any attractive and intelligent girl willingly put herself in a danger zone? Would you walk into prison with with your asshole showing? Neither would she.
The internet, trust no one. Don't even trust me. In fact, don't trust me when I tell you not to trust me, thus creating a paradox from which you will never escape. That way I can shoot you and eliminate one more untrustworthy person from this vile planet of fakers.
Arthur Lee on 11:14 pm 0 comments
Reasons why you should re-elect Bush.
Arthur Lee on 10:03 pm 0 comments
Friday,July 30th, 2004
I hate being so popular.
Okay, so I woke up this morning to no less than seven IMs from people I've never seen in my life (and one guy I knew and chose to ignore just because I hate him). And comparing this to the maybe two IMs I get every day from people I do know, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.
So I do what all guys do when they know something is wrong, I blamed in on my wife. But that didn't happen either because I don't live in Anonymous Third World Country Where Thirteen Year Olds Can Legally Fuck Each Other And Get Married. So I ended up visiting my website because obviously it's the second best website in the world (right after Google, which is my homepage). To put it into perspective, when I went to bed this morning (at 6 A.M.) after successfully waging war on all the Goths in the universe, ever, my hits counter sat at about 9700. When I woke up at 1 P.M., it was at 12,000. Right now (11:40 P.M.) it's at 14,152. That's ALMOST as high as my IQ. Also the length of my penis. In yoctometers (Give me a break, I'm Asian).
So I'm pretty much fucked. I pay about ten bucks a year for my webspace. Now ten bucks really isn't much, and as such I get only about three gigabytes to transfer all of my genius to you, the unenlightened. But when I get linked to by a fat-head with a monocle and a trillion visitors every day, my three gigabytes are like "Oh shit."
To sum it all up:
7289 MB used (7 gigs)
3072 MB allotted (3 gigs)
equals (=)
me fucked. (image above)
So unless anyone's got a few bucks (like ten) to spare,
Super Fun Dungeon Run is going to be temporarily down for a month.
In other news, I'm not really a fan of Star Wars, or MMORPGs for that matter, but recently I've been playing a little bit of Star Wars Galaxies. Now before you come to my house and call me a faggot and kick my ass, let me explain.
Bam. Podunkian Adolf.
Anyways, it was cool because I after being a total badass and killing some rats and frogs and other vicious monsters like that, I went to some grass hut like they've got in Anonymous Third World Country Where Thirteen Year Olds Can Legally Fuck Each Other And Get Married. After buying myself the worst shirt I could buy, I went outside with my pants off (I mean if letting you run around in public in your boxers isn't reason enough to buy a game, I don't know what is). When I was outside, there was a girl who LOLed at me. Now since this IS Star Wars Galaxies, I'm guessing the girl was actually a really fat and hairy guy named Richard sitting in the nude getting cheap thrills from unsuspecting players hitting on him. Anyways, he/she/it said,"lol u must be hitler.' And then he/she/it asked if I wanted to duel. I said "Nein."
Man, this game rocks.
Arthur Lee on 7:07 pm 0 comments
Thursday,July 29th, 2004
Buy happiness.
You know how people say happiness can't be bought? Well kick those people in the balls because they're lying to you. Go outside, buy a gun and let the happy times begin.
You see, to eliminate unhappiness we must remove it by its roots. And who're the unhappiest people, ever? Goths.
See, I've never understood goths. That's not to say I haven't tried, because you know me, I'm open to just about everything (obvious lie).
Anyways, all gothic people are unathletic. I'm not exactly sure why but I think it has to do with zombies, because see, zombies are dead and dead is what gothic people want to be. Zombies can't run very fast either, unless they're Dawn of the Dead zombies, but gothic people hate the mainstream, so they haven't seen that movie. That's why all the gothic people I know suck at P.E.
I'm guessing the heavy clothing is just so that none of the goths cheat, by, you know, running or anything.
Speaking of clothing, one time I saw a goth wearing a trenchcoat, a tight black shirt, ass hugging black jeans, and thick, black, rubber boots. I thought I was fucking hilarious when I came up to him and said "Mr. Anderson, welcome back, we missed you." He kind of had a "fuckoff" look on his face, but I couldn't really tell because I was blinded by the light that was reflecting off of his pale white skin. So I asked him if he ever got hot in the sun and he punched me and it kind of tickled. He walked (or rather, zombie staggered) away from me that day and I never saw him at school again.
So anyways, back to hating the goths. The real reason goths suck so much is because all they do is complain. Like that's ALL they do, EVER, aside from writing crappy poetry. And it's not really poetry either. They get a Thesaurus and find as many synonyms to the word "death" as they can. Then they sprinkle on words like "brooding" and "dark" because it sounds all cool and gothic. And gothic art pretty much means draw dead things and then draw lots of pentagrams and blood.
And then every day they risk actually being socially acceptable by venturing outside, and when they're out there all they do is hang out in packs and talk about how cool it was how they saw roadkill on the way to school. Sometimes they venture out in packs during the night and you can't really see them until you feel an unexpected bump while you're speeding down the street. Man, those sidewalks are so mainstream.
Well anyways, being happy. I think the best part about it all is that you don't really have to buy ammunition for your gun. Here's how you do it: Go to your favorite mall and find the Hot Topic store. If you can't find it, just follow the trail of blood. Once you're there, just say something really crap like "Life is GREAT!" and wait for one of those stupid goth suckers to come up to you and talk about how life is pointless and junk like that and how it's not worth living and stuff. THAT's when you pull out your gun and tell him/her/it to prove it. Seeing as all goths are pussies, he'll puss out and say no. That's when all of the goths in the store will hypocritically call him a 'poseur' (there's a u there to make it look more French and sophisticated, since all goths are condescending). Being rejected by the lowest social rank can really fuck with you, and so the ex-goth will probably go home and slit his wrists. Mission accomplished, now you can smile and live life the happy way.
You see, to eliminate unhappiness we must remove it by its roots. And who're the unhappiest people, ever? Goths.
See, I've never understood goths. That's not to say I haven't tried, because you know me, I'm open to just about everything (obvious lie).
Anyways, all gothic people are unathletic. I'm not exactly sure why but I think it has to do with zombies, because see, zombies are dead and dead is what gothic people want to be. Zombies can't run very fast either, unless they're Dawn of the Dead zombies, but gothic people hate the mainstream, so they haven't seen that movie. That's why all the gothic people I know suck at P.E.
I'm guessing the heavy clothing is just so that none of the goths cheat, by, you know, running or anything.
Speaking of clothing, one time I saw a goth wearing a trenchcoat, a tight black shirt, ass hugging black jeans, and thick, black, rubber boots. I thought I was fucking hilarious when I came up to him and said "Mr. Anderson, welcome back, we missed you." He kind of had a "fuckoff" look on his face, but I couldn't really tell because I was blinded by the light that was reflecting off of his pale white skin. So I asked him if he ever got hot in the sun and he punched me and it kind of tickled. He walked (or rather, zombie staggered) away from me that day and I never saw him at school again.
So anyways, back to hating the goths. The real reason goths suck so much is because all they do is complain. Like that's ALL they do, EVER, aside from writing crappy poetry. And it's not really poetry either. They get a Thesaurus and find as many synonyms to the word "death" as they can. Then they sprinkle on words like "brooding" and "dark" because it sounds all cool and gothic. And gothic art pretty much means draw dead things and then draw lots of pentagrams and blood.
And then every day they risk actually being socially acceptable by venturing outside, and when they're out there all they do is hang out in packs and talk about how cool it was how they saw roadkill on the way to school. Sometimes they venture out in packs during the night and you can't really see them until you feel an unexpected bump while you're speeding down the street. Man, those sidewalks are so mainstream.
Well anyways, being happy. I think the best part about it all is that you don't really have to buy ammunition for your gun. Here's how you do it: Go to your favorite mall and find the Hot Topic store. If you can't find it, just follow the trail of blood. Once you're there, just say something really crap like "Life is GREAT!" and wait for one of those stupid goth suckers to come up to you and talk about how life is pointless and junk like that and how it's not worth living and stuff. THAT's when you pull out your gun and tell him/her/it to prove it. Seeing as all goths are pussies, he'll puss out and say no. That's when all of the goths in the store will hypocritically call him a 'poseur' (there's a u there to make it look more French and sophisticated, since all goths are condescending). Being rejected by the lowest social rank can really fuck with you, and so the ex-goth will probably go home and slit his wrists. Mission accomplished, now you can smile and live life the happy way.
Arthur Lee on 9:37 pm 0 comments
Monday,July 26th, 2004
Rule the world
Man, if I were the president of the United States of America (which I [currently] am not, due to my being Asian, you racist voter fucks) I would be the best dictator president ever.
My only reform would aim to achieve one hundred percent population intelligence. I would call this the "Kill Bill". In essense, everyone except me would be required by law to shoot themselves (punishable by death by firing squad). Yes, everyone except me, because if there's one thing I've learned on the internet, it's that I'm the only intelligent person on the internet, ever, and everyone else is stupid. Because I know there are some stupid people out there who wouldn't kill themselves, I would probably hire a scientist to invent a giant freezer that would turn rain into hurling spears of death. Afterwards, I would probably shoot the scientist, because he's probably not smarter than me either. I would also probably have to put a huge tax on umbrellas: your life.
Now you might be reading this and thinking "Man, you're really leaving your country wide open for attack" and this would be true. But if some country (let's say Japan, since they draw hentai) were to invade my country and kill me, nobody would care because everyone who would care (namely those Americans that complain about EVERYTHING) would be dead. Well everyone except the cool people (me).
As for hunger, there will be no hunger. The survivors will feast on the flesh of the dead and drink the blood of the fallen, that is, until they're shot. There will be no hospitals unless they are really filled with poison gas.
It would also help the British people, because instead of typing "Dumb Americans" in every online conversation they ever have, they could just say "Dumb American," since there'd only be one left (me). How efficient.
So yeah, vote for me when I run for President someday. Or even better, kill any politicians you see so I can win by default and we'll also have a few people head start on my "Kill Bill". I mean afterall, I AM the only President that can eliminate world hunger. And stuff.
My only reform would aim to achieve one hundred percent population intelligence. I would call this the "Kill Bill". In essense, everyone except me would be required by law to shoot themselves (punishable by death by firing squad). Yes, everyone except me, because if there's one thing I've learned on the internet, it's that I'm the only intelligent person on the internet, ever, and everyone else is stupid. Because I know there are some stupid people out there who wouldn't kill themselves, I would probably hire a scientist to invent a giant freezer that would turn rain into hurling spears of death. Afterwards, I would probably shoot the scientist, because he's probably not smarter than me either. I would also probably have to put a huge tax on umbrellas: your life.
Now you might be reading this and thinking "Man, you're really leaving your country wide open for attack" and this would be true. But if some country (let's say Japan, since they draw hentai) were to invade my country and kill me, nobody would care because everyone who would care (namely those Americans that complain about EVERYTHING) would be dead. Well everyone except the cool people (me).
As for hunger, there will be no hunger. The survivors will feast on the flesh of the dead and drink the blood of the fallen, that is, until they're shot. There will be no hospitals unless they are really filled with poison gas.
It would also help the British people, because instead of typing "Dumb Americans" in every online conversation they ever have, they could just say "Dumb American," since there'd only be one left (me). How efficient.
So yeah, vote for me when I run for President someday. Or even better, kill any politicians you see so I can win by default and we'll also have a few people head start on my "Kill Bill". I mean afterall, I AM the only President that can eliminate world hunger. And stuff.
Arthur Lee on 10:08 pm 0 comments
Saturday,July 17th, 2004
Are you my buttercup?
How suitable of a mate are you for me?
Take The Arthur Test and find out.
Feel free to post your scores, but only if you don't have a penis.
Take The Arthur Test and find out.
Feel free to post your scores, but only if you don't have a penis.
Arthur Lee on 11:50 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,July 14th, 2004
Your Friends
Level 1
These friends are the friends that you keep forever (or at least during your highschool career.) These are the friends that you call up at 3:00 AM when you have a sudden flood of emotions over some girl that fucked you and left you for another boytoy. If you've got a crush on one of these friends, you're fucked because by now you've become somewhat of an older brother to them. And nobody likes incest. Except the Southerners. But nobody likes them either. Oh yeah, you can take these friends out to Prom too, but don't try anything funny, or it's back to level 6 with you. You're a shoulder to lean on. Anything below the shoulder is off limits.
Level 2
These are the friends that you hang out with the most, either because you've known them for awhile or because they're best friends of the girl you've got a crush on. They probably whine to you about their problems, and you pretend to listen and sometimes give them some verbal feedback, but deep down all you're really thinking about is sex, because Freud said so. It's okay, I am too.
Level 3
This person is someone in your class that you cheat off of. Sometimes when some dickhead tells you that you have no friends, you include this person in your "Oh yeah? This is my list of friends" count. Also when you go to see a movie with some hot chick and she's afraid that going alone with you would be like... "gay" or something (she really means that it's too much like a date and probably that you're ugly), you invite this person, because you know they have absolutely no redeeming qualities (which is why you don't like them too much in the first place). Sometimes they tell you to "keep in touch" in your yearbook, but if you ever actually gather the balls to call this person, they'll probably hang up on you or make excuses. Your relationship with this person ends as soon as you get crap answers from them.
Level 4
This is probably the annoying guy in your group that nobody else in the group likes except one person. Most of the time this friend is named Sam but they can be a Brian or Bobby too. You try to keep the contact with these people at a minimum level, but most of the time they won't get the hint.
Level 5
This friend probably has straight A's in all of her classes. She is nice to EVERYONE. She's not really your friend, but she's nice to you, and she's pretty hot, so you tell people that she is. You probably don't even know her last name. I think you know her bra size though.
Level 6
You absolutely hate this person, but for whatever reason, you are obligated to be his/her friend. This reason may be one of the following:
A) He/She is your crush's sibling/ex-boyfriend/boyfriend/friend.
B) He/She was once your best friend and now insists you are still "friends" so as not to hurt your feelings.
C) He/She is the leader of your clique.
D) He/She has caught you masturbating.
E) He/She has caught you masturbating in front of your crush' house.
F) He/She is dangerously emotionally attached to you. Failure to maintain this 'relationship' will result in injury to this person and those around him/her.
Level 7
Your crush. She's probably hot and Japanese and doesn't even know you exist. And that's perfectly okay, since you're probably standing outside of her window, masturbating.
These friends are the friends that you keep forever (or at least during your highschool career.) These are the friends that you call up at 3:00 AM when you have a sudden flood of emotions over some girl that fucked you and left you for another boytoy. If you've got a crush on one of these friends, you're fucked because by now you've become somewhat of an older brother to them. And nobody likes incest. Except the Southerners. But nobody likes them either. Oh yeah, you can take these friends out to Prom too, but don't try anything funny, or it's back to level 6 with you. You're a shoulder to lean on. Anything below the shoulder is off limits.
Level 2
These are the friends that you hang out with the most, either because you've known them for awhile or because they're best friends of the girl you've got a crush on. They probably whine to you about their problems, and you pretend to listen and sometimes give them some verbal feedback, but deep down all you're really thinking about is sex, because Freud said so. It's okay, I am too.
Level 3
This person is someone in your class that you cheat off of. Sometimes when some dickhead tells you that you have no friends, you include this person in your "Oh yeah? This is my list of friends" count. Also when you go to see a movie with some hot chick and she's afraid that going alone with you would be like... "gay" or something (she really means that it's too much like a date and probably that you're ugly), you invite this person, because you know they have absolutely no redeeming qualities (which is why you don't like them too much in the first place). Sometimes they tell you to "keep in touch" in your yearbook, but if you ever actually gather the balls to call this person, they'll probably hang up on you or make excuses. Your relationship with this person ends as soon as you get crap answers from them.
Level 4
This is probably the annoying guy in your group that nobody else in the group likes except one person. Most of the time this friend is named Sam but they can be a Brian or Bobby too. You try to keep the contact with these people at a minimum level, but most of the time they won't get the hint.
Level 5
This friend probably has straight A's in all of her classes. She is nice to EVERYONE. She's not really your friend, but she's nice to you, and she's pretty hot, so you tell people that she is. You probably don't even know her last name. I think you know her bra size though.
Level 6
You absolutely hate this person, but for whatever reason, you are obligated to be his/her friend. This reason may be one of the following:
A) He/She is your crush's sibling/ex-boyfriend/boyfriend/friend.
B) He/She was once your best friend and now insists you are still "friends" so as not to hurt your feelings.
C) He/She is the leader of your clique.
D) He/She has caught you masturbating.
E) He/She has caught you masturbating in front of your crush' house.
F) He/She is dangerously emotionally attached to you. Failure to maintain this 'relationship' will result in injury to this person and those around him/her.
Level 7
Your crush. She's probably hot and Japanese and doesn't even know you exist. And that's perfectly okay, since you're probably standing outside of her window, masturbating.
Arthur Lee on 10:40 pm 0 comments
Monday,July 12th, 2004
Elephant
I've just watched the movie Elephant and I've gotta say it's brilliant for what it does. If you haven't seen the movie and you plan on doing so, I suggest you skip this entry and read the hilarious post that precedes it. Hilarious.
Anyways, a lot of people don't get the film at all. They watch it, and it ends abruptly, and you know those dumb people who think they're all intellectual will say something like "Wow, what a great movie", just because you know, they've got 10 minute shots of the sky, which of course is artistic and will make you look like sophisticated if you acknowledge it. Yeah, that's not me.
Then we've got people who say "YES THE ACTING WAS PRETTY BAD AND ALSO THE DIALOGUE SUCKS BUT THE STORY IS SO TOUCHING. THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST DRAMAS I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE." Point missed.
Man, the point of the movie isn't to touch you. The point of the movie (in my obviously always right opinion) is to tell the story of Columbine as the media portrays it (while contrasting it to reality).
So we've got your typical highschool kids sitting in a chemistry class. All of the students are PERFECT: attentive, asking (smart) questions, perfect crap like that. Then we go to the way back of the room, where we've got the shooter-to-be, who gets pelted by a huge fucking snowball of spitballs. It's absurd because it's supposed to be: A lot of the media was putting the cause of the shootings on the fact that the shooters were being teased and picked on at school.
The movie also points out the ignorance of the general public to the realities of school. For example, the shot of everybody playing sports out on the field, everybody attentively listening during class, crap like that. It looks ridiculous and completely unrealistic, and that's the point it's trying to get across.
Then we've got Eric and Alex sitting in their room. One is playing a hilariously cliched violent video game (basically open space with random people walking around and getting shot... sounds fun), watching Nazi propoganda tapes. Right before shooting the principal of the school, one of the shooters says something that sounds like it was taken from a movie (Something along the lines of I'm not going to kill you, but fuck off before I change my mind). After all, this IS what the media told you caused the otherwise perfect kids to be hopelessly corrupt.
Then we've got the fact that everybody is completely ignorant of the fact that there are two guys in military camoflauge carrying two duffel bags into a school. There's even a scene where a janitor clearly sees two boys, in camo walking down the hallway with a shotgun and a submachine gun. Again, completely insane, but isn't that how the media portrayed the entire incident? That there were obvious signs that it was going to happen but nobody acted on them.
I think the best part of the movie was the character Benny, because BAM out of absolutely fucking nowhere this guy gets his name on a black screen. He looks like a total badass, a fucking huge black guy in a tank top, strutting down the hallway with a 'fuckoff' look on his face. He's given the chance to escape through an open window, but he's too cool for that. So the camera follows him as his badass self slowly approaches one of the shooters, who has his back turned to him, and you KNOW Benny the Badass is gonna kick some scrawny whiteboy ass. Actually, he gets shot without ever having said a single line, maybe 3 minutes after he is first introduced. Genius. Don't let the media's bullshit stories fool you, in life there ARE no heroes.
The movie also capitalizes on the other "typical teen problems" presented by the media. shorly after eating snack, three girls systematically go to the bathroom in three consecutive stalls and proceed to force themselves to puke. Then we've got the food services helper going out back to have a smoke. Yeah right.
All of this absurdity is in contrast with pretty much the reality of it, exemplified by the ugliest, plainest, more unattractive person ever (And this by the way is a GOOD thing). She represents everyman (woman too, I guess). She's self conscious (She won't wear shorts to P.E.). She has no real purpose or skills. Even though she is by far the most unattractive character in the entire movie, she is the one you relate with. Also worth noting is the fact that she gets teased just as much as the shooters, but because she represents reality, she doesn't go on a rampage. She's the first one to die (effectively eliminating realism) while saying something really unimportant. This is reality, your death is not glorious and you are not a hero.
Taking a bit of a shit in the dark here, but maybe the blurred background of a lot of the scenes helps further the message. Our perceptions are effectively blurred by the media. If you want to really stretch it, you could go as far as to say that sometimes we focus so much on some things that all other possibilities become nothing more than a blur (Like the media focusing on music, video games, etc. as the main cause of the violence).
With that said, I think this is one of those movies that is stupid on purpose. Not stupid as in it sucks, but stupid as in its ridiculous in every aspect, but that's the intention. Kind of like Mars Attacks, except... not as stupid.
All in all, I loved the movie for what it did. And not because it's artistic and loving it will make girls think I'm smart, because they should know I'm smart anyways. The Elephant is REALLY a different experience than what I'm used to and for such a seemingly short movie (I mean half of the time is spent looking at the sky), it's got a lot of stuff you can look into.
So yeah, It's like 3 in the morning and I'm pretty tired, so I'm going to bed. You can come too, as long as you're Asian. Oh, and short. Or if your name is Jess and you live in Canada. Bye.
Anyways, a lot of people don't get the film at all. They watch it, and it ends abruptly, and you know those dumb people who think they're all intellectual will say something like "Wow, what a great movie", just because you know, they've got 10 minute shots of the sky, which of course is artistic and will make you look like sophisticated if you acknowledge it. Yeah, that's not me.
Then we've got people who say "YES THE ACTING WAS PRETTY BAD AND ALSO THE DIALOGUE SUCKS BUT THE STORY IS SO TOUCHING. THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST DRAMAS I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE." Point missed.
Man, the point of the movie isn't to touch you. The point of the movie (in my obviously always right opinion) is to tell the story of Columbine as the media portrays it (while contrasting it to reality).
So we've got your typical highschool kids sitting in a chemistry class. All of the students are PERFECT: attentive, asking (smart) questions, perfect crap like that. Then we go to the way back of the room, where we've got the shooter-to-be, who gets pelted by a huge fucking snowball of spitballs. It's absurd because it's supposed to be: A lot of the media was putting the cause of the shootings on the fact that the shooters were being teased and picked on at school.
The movie also points out the ignorance of the general public to the realities of school. For example, the shot of everybody playing sports out on the field, everybody attentively listening during class, crap like that. It looks ridiculous and completely unrealistic, and that's the point it's trying to get across.
Then we've got Eric and Alex sitting in their room. One is playing a hilariously cliched violent video game (basically open space with random people walking around and getting shot... sounds fun), watching Nazi propoganda tapes. Right before shooting the principal of the school, one of the shooters says something that sounds like it was taken from a movie (Something along the lines of I'm not going to kill you, but fuck off before I change my mind). After all, this IS what the media told you caused the otherwise perfect kids to be hopelessly corrupt.
Then we've got the fact that everybody is completely ignorant of the fact that there are two guys in military camoflauge carrying two duffel bags into a school. There's even a scene where a janitor clearly sees two boys, in camo walking down the hallway with a shotgun and a submachine gun. Again, completely insane, but isn't that how the media portrayed the entire incident? That there were obvious signs that it was going to happen but nobody acted on them.
I think the best part of the movie was the character Benny, because BAM out of absolutely fucking nowhere this guy gets his name on a black screen. He looks like a total badass, a fucking huge black guy in a tank top, strutting down the hallway with a 'fuckoff' look on his face. He's given the chance to escape through an open window, but he's too cool for that. So the camera follows him as his badass self slowly approaches one of the shooters, who has his back turned to him, and you KNOW Benny the Badass is gonna kick some scrawny whiteboy ass. Actually, he gets shot without ever having said a single line, maybe 3 minutes after he is first introduced. Genius. Don't let the media's bullshit stories fool you, in life there ARE no heroes.
The movie also capitalizes on the other "typical teen problems" presented by the media. shorly after eating snack, three girls systematically go to the bathroom in three consecutive stalls and proceed to force themselves to puke. Then we've got the food services helper going out back to have a smoke. Yeah right.
All of this absurdity is in contrast with pretty much the reality of it, exemplified by the ugliest, plainest, more unattractive person ever (And this by the way is a GOOD thing). She represents everyman (woman too, I guess). She's self conscious (She won't wear shorts to P.E.). She has no real purpose or skills. Even though she is by far the most unattractive character in the entire movie, she is the one you relate with. Also worth noting is the fact that she gets teased just as much as the shooters, but because she represents reality, she doesn't go on a rampage. She's the first one to die (effectively eliminating realism) while saying something really unimportant. This is reality, your death is not glorious and you are not a hero.
Taking a bit of a shit in the dark here, but maybe the blurred background of a lot of the scenes helps further the message. Our perceptions are effectively blurred by the media. If you want to really stretch it, you could go as far as to say that sometimes we focus so much on some things that all other possibilities become nothing more than a blur (Like the media focusing on music, video games, etc. as the main cause of the violence).
With that said, I think this is one of those movies that is stupid on purpose. Not stupid as in it sucks, but stupid as in its ridiculous in every aspect, but that's the intention. Kind of like Mars Attacks, except... not as stupid.
All in all, I loved the movie for what it did. And not because it's artistic and loving it will make girls think I'm smart, because they should know I'm smart anyways. The Elephant is REALLY a different experience than what I'm used to and for such a seemingly short movie (I mean half of the time is spent looking at the sky), it's got a lot of stuff you can look into.
So yeah, It's like 3 in the morning and I'm pretty tired, so I'm going to bed. You can come too, as long as you're Asian. Oh, and short. Or if your name is Jess and you live in Canada. Bye.
Arthur Lee on 10:25 pm 0 comments
Sunday,July 11th, 2004
I am super.
Back when I was a kid, I remember playing superheroes with my friends. Actually, I lied, I'm one of thoe blasphemous commies that never even touched a comic book. But reality aside, I remember that whenever we played, me and my friends would always choose retarded superpowers, like shooting fireballs, or climbing walls, or flying, or x-ray vision. You know, super powers that would help me fight crime. But now that I'm older, I realize that not all super powers have to be used to turn the tide in the war between good and evil.
Which leads me to the topic of this post. If I could choose to have any power in the world, what power would I choose?
Always Being Right. If I had this power, I would call myself Mr. Right. I would probably be a lawyer by day, making boatloads of cash winning every case I ever attempted. At night I would go to the bars and look for sexy, short Asian girls who are looking for "Mr. Right." Obviously, my theoretical arch nemesis would br Mr. Wrong. His real name would PROBABLY be Winston. (Oooh, burn).
Having Big Fists. If I had this power, I would call myself The Puncher. I wouldn't use my fists for good. Instead, I would go around asking girls if they knew what they said about guys with big hands. Sometimes I would punch people in the face if they got annoying. I don't think I'd have an arch nemesis, because nobody messes with a guy with big fists.
Shooting French Fries out of My Hands. If I had this power, I wouldn't call myself anything, because then people would know and keep asking me for free food. Anyways, arch nemesis Jared from Subway.
Turn People Into Japanese Schoolgirls. If I had this power, I would be called Joybringer. These Japanese Schoolgirls would help me with my homework, cook my food, do the laundry, clean my stuff, and other stuff like that. Nothing perverted, you pedophile (At least not out loud). My arch nemesis would be called Gayray, and he would shoot rays that turn people into Japanese Schoolboys.
Having Incredible Handwriting. If I had this power, I would be able to write with amazing penmanship. In fact, i would either be called The Penman or Mr. Write. I don't know why though, since people can usually write pretty well without superpowers. My arch nemesis would be called Sloppy Joe. I would kick his ass with my incredibly handwriting.
Being Able to Turn The Moon Full. If I had this power, I would call myself Full Moon Phil, wich would SEEM like it is giving away my true identity, but it is not (Great idea, huh?). It seems like a pretty worthless idea, but it's not, because everybody knows girls dig full moons. Everyone also knows that full moons mean zombies and werewolfs. And I'm talking abuot the Dawn of the Dead velociraptor kind of zombies (not the crappy slow "fleeeeeeeesssssssssh" kind).
Never Being Able To Die. If I had this power, I would grab my enemies and jump off buildings. I think the bad part of this power is that if I ever got chopped into pieces, I would still be alive, except in tiny pieces. My arch nemesis would be called Mortal Man, and he would always die.
Having an Extensive Vocabulary. My name would be Lux Lexicon, but I already have this power so it's not.
Being Able to Rewind Time With this power, I would be able to go back in time, but only up to an hour. The thing about this power is that there is a loophole, and that is that I can go back in time while I'm back in time, so I could keep going back in time in one hour increments. I would live my life just like how I read Choose Your Own Adventure books: I would make a choice, see how it plays out and then if I fucked it up, I would just cheat and go back. Also, I would be able to touch girls' boobs and then go back in time and they wouldn't know. Except that's kind of rape, which I don't dig. So nevermind... I hate boobs anyways. They would be my arch nemesis.
Making People Explode. Man, enough said.
All of you rapists and other assorted criminals can stop crapping in your pants now, I'm done. Hopefully I've convinced you that little kids always choose the crappiest powers. Not much of a point to argue, I'm sure, but at least it was fun.
Which leads me to the topic of this post. If I could choose to have any power in the world, what power would I choose?
Always Being Right. If I had this power, I would call myself Mr. Right. I would probably be a lawyer by day, making boatloads of cash winning every case I ever attempted. At night I would go to the bars and look for sexy, short Asian girls who are looking for "Mr. Right." Obviously, my theoretical arch nemesis would br Mr. Wrong. His real name would PROBABLY be Winston. (Oooh, burn).
Having Big Fists. If I had this power, I would call myself The Puncher. I wouldn't use my fists for good. Instead, I would go around asking girls if they knew what they said about guys with big hands. Sometimes I would punch people in the face if they got annoying. I don't think I'd have an arch nemesis, because nobody messes with a guy with big fists.
Shooting French Fries out of My Hands. If I had this power, I wouldn't call myself anything, because then people would know and keep asking me for free food. Anyways, arch nemesis Jared from Subway.
Turn People Into Japanese Schoolgirls. If I had this power, I would be called Joybringer. These Japanese Schoolgirls would help me with my homework, cook my food, do the laundry, clean my stuff, and other stuff like that. Nothing perverted, you pedophile (At least not out loud). My arch nemesis would be called Gayray, and he would shoot rays that turn people into Japanese Schoolboys.
Having Incredible Handwriting. If I had this power, I would be able to write with amazing penmanship. In fact, i would either be called The Penman or Mr. Write. I don't know why though, since people can usually write pretty well without superpowers. My arch nemesis would be called Sloppy Joe. I would kick his ass with my incredibly handwriting.
Being Able to Turn The Moon Full. If I had this power, I would call myself Full Moon Phil, wich would SEEM like it is giving away my true identity, but it is not (Great idea, huh?). It seems like a pretty worthless idea, but it's not, because everybody knows girls dig full moons. Everyone also knows that full moons mean zombies and werewolfs. And I'm talking abuot the Dawn of the Dead velociraptor kind of zombies (not the crappy slow "fleeeeeeeesssssssssh" kind).
Never Being Able To Die. If I had this power, I would grab my enemies and jump off buildings. I think the bad part of this power is that if I ever got chopped into pieces, I would still be alive, except in tiny pieces. My arch nemesis would be called Mortal Man, and he would always die.
Having an Extensive Vocabulary. My name would be Lux Lexicon, but I already have this power so it's not.
Being Able to Rewind Time With this power, I would be able to go back in time, but only up to an hour. The thing about this power is that there is a loophole, and that is that I can go back in time while I'm back in time, so I could keep going back in time in one hour increments. I would live my life just like how I read Choose Your Own Adventure books: I would make a choice, see how it plays out and then if I fucked it up, I would just cheat and go back. Also, I would be able to touch girls' boobs and then go back in time and they wouldn't know. Except that's kind of rape, which I don't dig. So nevermind... I hate boobs anyways. They would be my arch nemesis.
Making People Explode. Man, enough said.
All of you rapists and other assorted criminals can stop crapping in your pants now, I'm done. Hopefully I've convinced you that little kids always choose the crappiest powers. Not much of a point to argue, I'm sure, but at least it was fun.
Arthur Lee on 10:35 pm 0 comments
Friday,July 09th, 2004
Why I hate personality tests.
You know what I hate about being single? I hate how every personality survey asks if you've ever been in a relationship and then proceeds to rub it in if you haven't. I'm talking about personality surveys that ask:
"Have you ever been in a relationship with someone of the opposite gender?
A. Yes
B. No"
Nope.
"How many partners did you have in the past week?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0.
"How many partners did you have in the past month?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0.
"How many partners did you have in the past year?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0.
"How many partners did you have in your life?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0, you fucker.
"How many times a week did you have sex (on average)?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+
"
0.
"How many months have you been in this relationship?
a. 0
b. 1-4
c. 5-8
d. 9+"
0.
"Would you still love your partner if she became disfigured?
a. Yes
b. No"
Uh, am I supposed to guess or what? Because if I say yes, I'd be lying, since i don't HAVE a partner. And I know if I were to be honest and say no, the computer would think of me as a superficial and awful, awful person.
And then the results come out and they pound you even more for it. "You have a kind heart, but you lack the experience, which PROBABLY means you're gay. Either that or you're dickless. Either way you lose, fucker! Haha."
Fucking computers.
"Have you ever been in a relationship with someone of the opposite gender?
A. Yes
B. No"
Nope.
"How many partners did you have in the past week?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0.
"How many partners did you have in the past month?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0.
"How many partners did you have in the past year?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0.
"How many partners did you have in your life?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+"
0, you fucker.
"How many times a week did you have sex (on average)?
a. 0
b. 1
c. 2
d. 3
e. 4+
"
0.
"How many months have you been in this relationship?
a. 0
b. 1-4
c. 5-8
d. 9+"
0.
"Would you still love your partner if she became disfigured?
a. Yes
b. No"
Uh, am I supposed to guess or what? Because if I say yes, I'd be lying, since i don't HAVE a partner. And I know if I were to be honest and say no, the computer would think of me as a superficial and awful, awful person.
And then the results come out and they pound you even more for it. "You have a kind heart, but you lack the experience, which PROBABLY means you're gay. Either that or you're dickless. Either way you lose, fucker! Haha."
Fucking computers.
Arthur Lee on 10:21 pm 0 comments
Thursday,July 08th, 2004
My totally unbiased no-nonsense review of the movie, Dawn of the Dead
Let me start off by saying this: Dawn of the Dead is one of the WORST movies I have ever "seen" in my life. I put quotation marks around "seen" only because I cannot think of any other verb that would describe the visual intake of how very little there is to see in the movie.
The movie pretty much starts with the Universal company logo. This is probably the best scene in the entire movie in terms of the audio. The rest of the movie consisted of muffled screams and other things I couldn't hear behind my covered ears.
The visuals were as bad as, if not worse than the sound. I kid you not, of all the scenes that I squinted at from the corner of my eyes, there was not one part that was the least bit impressive. Though in all fairness, my vision was partially blocked by a renegade pillow, but I am sure that I did not miss much.
Of the 18 minutes of the film I was able to stomach, i can heartily recommend only 1; the introductory credit scene.
All in all, Dawn of the Dead is by far one of the worst movies I've ever seen while under my bedcovers with my ears plugged.
FINAL VERDICT:
I'm just glad I didn't have to pay for it. Huzzah for Kazaa.
...
Yeah I pretty much chickened out within the first few minutes. I'm trying again tomorrow. I suck at horror movies.
The movie pretty much starts with the Universal company logo. This is probably the best scene in the entire movie in terms of the audio. The rest of the movie consisted of muffled screams and other things I couldn't hear behind my covered ears.
The visuals were as bad as, if not worse than the sound. I kid you not, of all the scenes that I squinted at from the corner of my eyes, there was not one part that was the least bit impressive. Though in all fairness, my vision was partially blocked by a renegade pillow, but I am sure that I did not miss much.
Of the 18 minutes of the film I was able to stomach, i can heartily recommend only 1; the introductory credit scene.
All in all, Dawn of the Dead is by far one of the worst movies I've ever seen while under my bedcovers with my ears plugged.
FINAL VERDICT:
I'm just glad I didn't have to pay for it. Huzzah for Kazaa.
...
Yeah I pretty much chickened out within the first few minutes. I'm trying again tomorrow. I suck at horror movies.
Arthur Lee on 8:47 pm 0 comments
Sunday,July 04th, 2004
Too Hot To Handle
You know what I find to the most disturbing thing ever? When (excuse my jack-assery) ugly girls think they can fool us. Like those pink shirts that say "Princess" or "Hottie." Look, it's a nice effort, but you're not fooling anyone.
Do you know how girls are always complaining that the only thing boys care about are the ass and tits? They're wrong, and the very fact that boys grimace and/or throw up a little in their mouths whenever they pass these people is proof enough.
I mean, no offense, but if you really aren't that good looking and you know it, the worst thing you could do is show other people how ignorant you are by pretending you're not.
With that said, I've got some shirt designs that I would like "UglyGirl Self Esteem Boosters Inc." to start considering:
Short, concise, to the point.
Just in case the thought ever crossed your mind.
Give them a summary.
And a new Wilfred to boot: Issue 30: Wilfred has a conversation.
Do you know how girls are always complaining that the only thing boys care about are the ass and tits? They're wrong, and the very fact that boys grimace and/or throw up a little in their mouths whenever they pass these people is proof enough.
I mean, no offense, but if you really aren't that good looking and you know it, the worst thing you could do is show other people how ignorant you are by pretending you're not.
With that said, I've got some shirt designs that I would like "UglyGirl Self Esteem Boosters Inc." to start considering:
Short, concise, to the point.
Just in case the thought ever crossed your mind.
Give them a summary.
And a new Wilfred to boot: Issue 30: Wilfred has a conversation.
Arthur Lee on 7:20 pm 0 comments
Saturday,July 03rd, 2004
I'm going to be the only person who writes on the fourth of July and doesn't make one mention of fireworks.
I'm not a fucking drink, dude.
Issue 29: The six stages towards self improvement. or as I like to call it, Wilfred's Epiphany. Except I'm too lazy to change the gif. Go me.
Or you can make your desktop worth a thousand roofles with this: (1024x768) or (1280x1024)
Arthur Lee on 10:25 pm 0 comments
Friday,July 02nd, 2004
Transformation complete.
My journal is now oppressive dictator free!
Arthur Lee on 6:14 pm 0 comments
THE BATTLE OF THE CENTURY
When I get "made fun of" by people who I assume to be sentient beings, possibly humans, sometimes I feel hurt. Sometimes, because most of the time their "attacks" to my "character" consists mostly of how many bad words they can use consecutively.
Enter the "attack" below:
ROUND 1: Most Intelligent Award
Our first comment comes from someone named billy. It reads "hey aurthur why are u such a fuckin fag."
First of all, if you're going to viciously attack me, the least you could do is spell my name right. I mean for Christ's sake, it's only written on the side bar twice. Oh yeah, there's also a comment I made two posts up. Oh and look, the first comment has my name in it too. Not to mention there's my name in bold blue, italicized at the end of the post. -10 points x 2 COMBO (See comment below aforementioned) = -20 points.
ROUND WINNER: "Aurthur"
ROUND 2: Most Pathetic Award
Now let's take another look at that AWFUL AWFUL attack. See the little blue number next to "billy's" name? See the same exact number by "jose's" name? That means they're the same person. Look, champ, if you've gotta pretend to be two people for people to believe your point of view, it's probably because your point of view is wrong. 10 x 2 (Number of "separate people") = 20 points.
ROUND WINNER: billy and jose.
ROUND 3: Ignoring the Obvious Award
Now let's take a look at jose, who states "hey aurthur no one cares what you think and how you feel about anything [...] nobody like you".
Misspellings and obvious grammatical errors aside, I think the comments that directly precede yours, as well as the fact that you cared enough to post a scathing rebuke prove enough that obviously somebody cares. 10 points
Then we've got Calvin, who asks if he can asks a question. He doesn't even wait for my response. He forces his question on to me. Question rape. He continues by asking his question "when your not making 'lame' comments about enemies [...] what do you do?"
Isn't it obvious? I make websites of myself dacing, Calvin dear. Please note incorrect usage of "your." And hey, honey, can you explain why you put quotation marks around 'lame', because it really makes no sense at all. 30 points.
ROUND WINNER: Calvin.
ROUND 4: Irony
Calvin seals his victory in this category with his final coup de grace: "face your enemies in person, not online... you can talk the talk, but can you walk the walk..." Am I the only person to find it ironic that he attacks me on an online website while calling me a coward for attacking someone on a website? 100 points
ROUND WINNER: Calvin.
ROUND 5: Teamplay Award
If you look at the times between the two commentings, you'll notice only a few minutes have elapsed. This is what I believe to have happened:
billy: hey u fuking fag lol
Calvin: hi
billy: hey u mah bitch lol
Calvin: okay
billy: some fagit totaly maked fun off me on the internet website i think its call super fan super ran or sometihng.
Calvin: oh really.
billy: hey check me out im gonna make fun of him lol
billy has signed off at 4:10 pm
billy has signed on at 4:22 pm
billy: lol read it its cool: http://www.superfundungeonrun.com/index.php?subaction=showcomments&id=1088566729&archive=&start_from=&ucat=&
Calvin: ha you showed him.
billy: dude what are you wating for he made fun of me, yor my friend hury and write something funy too
Calvin: hehe, okay.
Calvin has signed off at 4:28
billy: haha ur a fag
User Calvin is unavailable.
Calvin has signed on at 4:29
billy: haha ur a fag
Calvin: there i wrote it
billy: dude that sucks write osmething more
Calvin: okay
Calvin has signed off at 2:30
Calvin has signed on at 2:30
billy: haha great hes so dum hes gonna be soooo mad lol1
Usually there is power in numbers. This is not one of those times. 3000 points.
ROUND WINNER: Billy, Jose, Calvin, Calvin Again
RESULTS:
SUPREME LOSE: billy, jose, Calvin, Calvin Again.
SUPREME WIN: Arthur "Aurthur" Lee.
P.S. guys, if you really want to face me in person, at least give me your real name... isn't that the semi-intelligent thing to do?
In the meantime I'll go beating up every Billy, Jose, and Calvin that I know. Oh Calvin Again too.
Bye.
Enter the "attack" below:
ROUND 1: Most Intelligent Award
Our first comment comes from someone named billy. It reads "hey aurthur why are u such a fuckin fag."
First of all, if you're going to viciously attack me, the least you could do is spell my name right. I mean for Christ's sake, it's only written on the side bar twice. Oh yeah, there's also a comment I made two posts up. Oh and look, the first comment has my name in it too. Not to mention there's my name in bold blue, italicized at the end of the post. -10 points x 2 COMBO (See comment below aforementioned) = -20 points.
ROUND WINNER: "Aurthur"
ROUND 2: Most Pathetic Award
Now let's take another look at that AWFUL AWFUL attack. See the little blue number next to "billy's" name? See the same exact number by "jose's" name? That means they're the same person. Look, champ, if you've gotta pretend to be two people for people to believe your point of view, it's probably because your point of view is wrong. 10 x 2 (Number of "separate people") = 20 points.
ROUND WINNER: billy and jose.
ROUND 3: Ignoring the Obvious Award
Now let's take a look at jose, who states "hey aurthur no one cares what you think and how you feel about anything [...] nobody like you".
Misspellings and obvious grammatical errors aside, I think the comments that directly precede yours, as well as the fact that you cared enough to post a scathing rebuke prove enough that obviously somebody cares. 10 points
Then we've got Calvin, who asks if he can asks a question. He doesn't even wait for my response. He forces his question on to me. Question rape. He continues by asking his question "when your not making 'lame' comments about enemies [...] what do you do?"
Isn't it obvious? I make websites of myself dacing, Calvin dear. Please note incorrect usage of "your." And hey, honey, can you explain why you put quotation marks around 'lame', because it really makes no sense at all. 30 points.
ROUND WINNER: Calvin.
ROUND 4: Irony
Calvin seals his victory in this category with his final coup de grace: "face your enemies in person, not online... you can talk the talk, but can you walk the walk..." Am I the only person to find it ironic that he attacks me on an online website while calling me a coward for attacking someone on a website? 100 points
ROUND WINNER: Calvin.
ROUND 5: Teamplay Award
If you look at the times between the two commentings, you'll notice only a few minutes have elapsed. This is what I believe to have happened:
billy: hey u fuking fag lol
Calvin: hi
billy: hey u mah bitch lol
Calvin: okay
billy: some fagit totaly maked fun off me on the internet website i think its call super fan super ran or sometihng.
Calvin: oh really.
billy: hey check me out im gonna make fun of him lol
billy has signed off at 4:10 pm
billy has signed on at 4:22 pm
billy: lol read it its cool: http://www.superfundungeonrun.com/index.php?subaction=showcomments&id=1088566729&archive=&start_from=&ucat=&
Calvin: ha you showed him.
billy: dude what are you wating for he made fun of me, yor my friend hury and write something funy too
Calvin: hehe, okay.
Calvin has signed off at 4:28
billy: haha ur a fag
User Calvin is unavailable.
Calvin has signed on at 4:29
billy: haha ur a fag
Calvin: there i wrote it
billy: dude that sucks write osmething more
Calvin: okay
Calvin has signed off at 2:30
Calvin has signed on at 2:30
billy: haha great hes so dum hes gonna be soooo mad lol1
Usually there is power in numbers. This is not one of those times. 3000 points.
ROUND WINNER: Billy, Jose, Calvin, Calvin Again
RESULTS:
SUPREME LOSE: billy, jose, Calvin, Calvin Again.
SUPREME WIN: Arthur "Aurthur" Lee.
P.S. guys, if you really want to face me in person, at least give me your real name... isn't that the semi-intelligent thing to do?
In the meantime I'll go beating up every Billy, Jose, and Calvin that I know. Oh Calvin Again too.
Bye.
Arthur Lee on 12:32 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,June 29th, 2004
Look for the pot shot near the end!
You know what kind of people are the worst? Even worse than girls who refuse to shave their armpits (You know who you are, you sickos). It's people who think that writing about their boring lives will make them more interesting. Well a flash of news for you: it doesn't.
So let's say someone... for the sake of this entry we'll call him Wilfred. So say Wilfred goes to school. At school, Wilfred gets an education. After getting an education, Wilfred returns home. After Wilfred gets home, he does stuff. After he does stuff, he goes to sleep. Pretty boring, huh?
"Today I went to school. And I learned some stuff. Then after school I went home. And then I did some stuff until it was dark. Then I went to sleep."
Notice how after about the second sentence you really stopped giving a crap.
Now don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against keeping an internet journal. But for Christ's sakes, you know you've got a problem when the highlight of every entry is something like "Today I wore my socks." Great, I did too, but at least I've got something pink and squishy inside my face that flashes a giant neon "nobody cares" sign before I make the horrible mistake of sharing it with thousands of people I don't know. There's a reason the Internet is sometimes called the World Wide Web. That's because it's world wide. And kind of a web... because it catches you and sucks out your life (just kidding). But the point is that the moment you hit the publish button on your webjournal of choice, your socks become everybody's socks. That means some hot Japanese chick in Japan could be reading about your socks. That also means some 50 year old man wearing nothing but yellow rubber boots could be jacking off to them. Are your boring dumbsocks (yes, one word) really what you want to be known throughout the world for?
The point I'm trying to make is this - if I wanted to read something boring, I would read the Bible, or Winston's Xanga. Me, as well as the thousands and thousands of sexy, short Asian girls (who will send me an Instant Message via the AIM button on the bottom of the sidebar, by the way) aren't coming online to read about how you brushed your teeth this morning, so don't share it with us. If you're going to be boring, at least make it embarassing boring, like how you "discovered yourself" last night before bed. At least then I can get a good chuckle out of it.
So let's say someone... for the sake of this entry we'll call him Wilfred. So say Wilfred goes to school. At school, Wilfred gets an education. After getting an education, Wilfred returns home. After Wilfred gets home, he does stuff. After he does stuff, he goes to sleep. Pretty boring, huh?
"Today I went to school. And I learned some stuff. Then after school I went home. And then I did some stuff until it was dark. Then I went to sleep."
Notice how after about the second sentence you really stopped giving a crap.
Now don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against keeping an internet journal. But for Christ's sakes, you know you've got a problem when the highlight of every entry is something like "Today I wore my socks." Great, I did too, but at least I've got something pink and squishy inside my face that flashes a giant neon "nobody cares" sign before I make the horrible mistake of sharing it with thousands of people I don't know. There's a reason the Internet is sometimes called the World Wide Web. That's because it's world wide. And kind of a web... because it catches you and sucks out your life (just kidding). But the point is that the moment you hit the publish button on your webjournal of choice, your socks become everybody's socks. That means some hot Japanese chick in Japan could be reading about your socks. That also means some 50 year old man wearing nothing but yellow rubber boots could be jacking off to them. Are your boring dumbsocks (yes, one word) really what you want to be known throughout the world for?
The point I'm trying to make is this - if I wanted to read something boring, I would read the Bible, or Winston's Xanga. Me, as well as the thousands and thousands of sexy, short Asian girls (who will send me an Instant Message via the AIM button on the bottom of the sidebar, by the way) aren't coming online to read about how you brushed your teeth this morning, so don't share it with us. If you're going to be boring, at least make it embarassing boring, like how you "discovered yourself" last night before bed. At least then I can get a good chuckle out of it.
Arthur Lee on 10:38 pm 0 comments
Monday,June 28th, 2004
You're in good hands.
The way I see it, everybody is a lump of clay. You see, you start off life malleable, taking the shape of whatever the world around you wants you to be. Then you go to school, where the teachers try to shape into becoming something beautiful.
As you grow older, the clay hardens and your old habits become harder and harder to break. Some of the pottery that results from this is beautiful, while others aren't.
It is these beautiful pots that become the molds for the next generation of pots.
But even with these molds, there are outside influneces that can change your shape and help you break free from the molds, for you see, the things, events, placeas, and above all, people around you are the hands that shape who you are and what you become.
So, yeah anyways, that's why you should let me feel your boobs.
As you grow older, the clay hardens and your old habits become harder and harder to break. Some of the pottery that results from this is beautiful, while others aren't.
It is these beautiful pots that become the molds for the next generation of pots.
But even with these molds, there are outside influneces that can change your shape and help you break free from the molds, for you see, the things, events, placeas, and above all, people around you are the hands that shape who you are and what you become.
So, yeah anyways, that's why you should let me feel your boobs.
Arthur Lee on 8:30 pm 0 comments
I AM MADLY IN ANGER. (P.S. I don't listen to whatever band has a song of this title, I just like that phrase. Go away)
Sorry guys, usually I don't like to bring my personal business to this website (ha ha), but right now I'm in a really rampaging-fucking-angry-at-someone-I-don't-even-know kind of mood right now.
Not many people know this about me, but one of my hobbies is doing custom animations for computer games. I do it for free because I like animating and because I know there're people out there that'll enjoy my work too.
Recently, I found my file on some sort of website and some dickless cunt took my file and made it look like he made the thing. So being the calm, civil person I am, I told him to "get it the fuck off his fucking craphole of a fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKDIEMOTHERFUCKER site." Actually, I lied, this is what I REALLY wrote:
(Name censored out... I don't think I'll need to explain where)
Nothing terribly harsh there, see? The response I get back? Let me give you the highlights:
Man, it's one thing to steal someone's work, it's another to mouth off when they tell you to kindly remove it. It's about respecting the artists.
SDG*JISD okay. It's okay.
Blah, people stealing an artists work. I guess it's just some poetic justice for all the music I "bought" on Kazaa.
I hate justice.
Oh yeah, poets suck too.
I lied, poets are cool. Bye.
Not many people know this about me, but one of my hobbies is doing custom animations for computer games. I do it for free because I like animating and because I know there're people out there that'll enjoy my work too.
Recently, I found my file on some sort of website and some dickless cunt took my file and made it look like he made the thing. So being the calm, civil person I am, I told him to "get it the fuck off his fucking craphole of a fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKDIEMOTHERFUCKER site." Actually, I lied, this is what I REALLY wrote:
(Name censored out... I don't think I'll need to explain where)
Remove your Raging Cowboy model from this site. I don't like people uploading my crap without giving me any credit or notice. I especially don't like it when they upload pictures that have the words "(DICKLESS PIECE OF CRAP'S NAME)" written on them, especially if "(!@%!%()*@#% FUCKER)" didn't contribute ANYTHING to the model. People like you who steal other people's work really sicken me.
Remove my model from this site
Nothing terribly harsh there, see? The response I get back? Let me give you the highlights:
"people like you piss me off, if you never wanted the model to be distributed through the internet, it would be best not to post them on a forum with over 5000 members."
"so cheif what do you have to say?,"
"fyi, i wont remove it that easily"
Man, it's one thing to steal someone's work, it's another to mouth off when they tell you to kindly remove it. It's about respecting the artists.
SDG*JISD okay. It's okay.
Blah, people stealing an artists work. I guess it's just some poetic justice for all the music I "bought" on Kazaa.
I hate justice.
Oh yeah, poets suck too.
I lied, poets are cool. Bye.
Arthur Lee on 4:40 pm 0 comments
Dream
Last night I had a strangely metaphorical dream.
Basically I was driving Allan's car for some reason, and steering it was near impossible. So I kept veering on the wrong side of the road until finally a police office tried to pull me over. Allan, of course, was scared to hell, because in my dream his car wasn't insured. I was scared to death because I didn't have my permit in his car and I wasn't legally allowed to drive. After swerving onto oncoming traffic, I eventually stopped in the bicycle lane. The next thing I remember is that I was in some sort of anteroom at the police station. The officer told me that I wasn't in trouble, but that I had to fill out this form. The original form was a white one, but she said something that I don't remember and handed me a yellow form instead. She told me to do numbers 8, 9, and 11. The form had two sides of random questions on it ("Tell me your favorite joke", "What do you think about your mother?") and for some reason, I kept making mistakes. I'd write too sloppy or maybe I'd write the answer to a question in the wrong place. So I had to cross it out, but I always did it in the messiest way. So I did the entire first page and I ran out of pen ink. I made so many crossouts that I was about to ask for a new sheet. I asked the officer if I had to do all of the questions and she said "Only 8, 9, and 11." So I took a red pen that was lying nearby and crossed out the other questions.
The deep metaphorical message: I've tried too hard to control myself and my other friends in the past that its ended up with a lot of problems. For awhile I tried too hard to correct the problems, but I only ended up making them worse.
Pretty deep huh? Okay, time to stop being so emo. BYEBYE
Basically I was driving Allan's car for some reason, and steering it was near impossible. So I kept veering on the wrong side of the road until finally a police office tried to pull me over. Allan, of course, was scared to hell, because in my dream his car wasn't insured. I was scared to death because I didn't have my permit in his car and I wasn't legally allowed to drive. After swerving onto oncoming traffic, I eventually stopped in the bicycle lane. The next thing I remember is that I was in some sort of anteroom at the police station. The officer told me that I wasn't in trouble, but that I had to fill out this form. The original form was a white one, but she said something that I don't remember and handed me a yellow form instead. She told me to do numbers 8, 9, and 11. The form had two sides of random questions on it ("Tell me your favorite joke", "What do you think about your mother?") and for some reason, I kept making mistakes. I'd write too sloppy or maybe I'd write the answer to a question in the wrong place. So I had to cross it out, but I always did it in the messiest way. So I did the entire first page and I ran out of pen ink. I made so many crossouts that I was about to ask for a new sheet. I asked the officer if I had to do all of the questions and she said "Only 8, 9, and 11." So I took a red pen that was lying nearby and crossed out the other questions.
The deep metaphorical message: I've tried too hard to control myself and my other friends in the past that its ended up with a lot of problems. For awhile I tried too hard to correct the problems, but I only ended up making them worse.
Pretty deep huh? Okay, time to stop being so emo. BYEBYE
Arthur Lee on 6:29 am 0 comments
Saturday,June 26th, 2004
Irrelevant title
"
"
Haha alright so today was pretty fuckin' amazing. No dreams about the lunch lady. That's how I'm going to gauge my life from now on, from how much I think about her... warm... sloppy joes. God. Shut up.
Not like I even eat the school lunches anyways. I mean I'm already chubby (euphemism for overweight or 'fatass'), I don't need to stuff my face with rubber cocks and ground up roachmeat. Oh I meant "hamburgers" and (slash or) "popcorn chicken."
I've said it once, and I'll say it again: It's a conspiracy, man. Summer, I mean.
Figure A: A flowchart, as denoted by the filename, flowchart.gif.
You go to school, and you know, school sucks, so you're all "DUDE I CAN'T WAIT FOR SUMMER IT'S GONNA BE KILLERRRRR!!!!oneoneoneone." And then it finally comes, and you get your phone and you ring up your "homiez" and they're all "Dude, wtf, sorry, I'm out with [so and so girlfriend]." and so you (being single as a result of God hating you) are all alone. And mind you this is the day right after school is out. So what do you do? Naturally you say "God, I can't wait until Summer is over and I can see all of my friends at school." It's calculated, my friends. The school teachers sit in their dark caves, twiddling their fingers with a nasty grin on their faces because they know you'll be back.
Needless to say Summer's been kind of boring. I mean there's nothing really wrong with it. It's just... I mean... going out... with the same four guys every day. There's gotta be something kind of... gay about that. Not to imply that I'm gay of course...
...
Okay, look, my boyfriend was just kidding when he said that.
Yup. Okay, bye.
P.S. I'm not gay. You wouldn't believe how many people ask me if I am.
P.P.S. My mom thinks I do drugs.
P.P.P.S. I don't.
The Podunkian: http://www.superfundungeonrun.com/poddance2/
Texmo: I hate you
"
Haha alright so today was pretty fuckin' amazing. No dreams about the lunch lady. That's how I'm going to gauge my life from now on, from how much I think about her... warm... sloppy joes. God. Shut up.
Not like I even eat the school lunches anyways. I mean I'm already chubby (euphemism for overweight or 'fatass'), I don't need to stuff my face with rubber cocks and ground up roachmeat. Oh I meant "hamburgers" and (slash or) "popcorn chicken."
I've said it once, and I'll say it again: It's a conspiracy, man. Summer, I mean.
Figure A: A flowchart, as denoted by the filename, flowchart.gif.
You go to school, and you know, school sucks, so you're all "DUDE I CAN'T WAIT FOR SUMMER IT'S GONNA BE KILLERRRRR!!!!oneoneoneone." And then it finally comes, and you get your phone and you ring up your "homiez" and they're all "Dude, wtf, sorry, I'm out with [so and so girlfriend]." and so you (being single as a result of God hating you) are all alone. And mind you this is the day right after school is out. So what do you do? Naturally you say "God, I can't wait until Summer is over and I can see all of my friends at school." It's calculated, my friends. The school teachers sit in their dark caves, twiddling their fingers with a nasty grin on their faces because they know you'll be back.
Needless to say Summer's been kind of boring. I mean there's nothing really wrong with it. It's just... I mean... going out... with the same four guys every day. There's gotta be something kind of... gay about that. Not to imply that I'm gay of course...
...
Okay, look, my boyfriend was just kidding when he said that.
Yup. Okay, bye.
P.S. I'm not gay. You wouldn't believe how many people ask me if I am.
P.P.S. My mom thinks I do drugs.
P.P.P.S. I don't.
Arthur Lee on 6:51 pm 0 comments
You thought it would never happen.
Arthur Lee on 5:45 pm 0 comments
Friday,June 25th, 2004
What a weird dream.
Today I had the weirdest dream. Well actually, I forgot most of it, but I'll use my imagination to fill in the gaps.
Basically, it starts like this: I was at school. No, I wasn't naked. I was just at school. I think I was looking for someone, because I know that I'd stop every few minutes to ask someone something. Anyways, I keep walking until I get to the corner of the Little Theatre. You know, that corner that faces the hill. Yeah, I was there. I was about to ask the people there the same question I'd asked many times before when... All of a sudden, my cell phone starts ringing, in a ring tone I'd never heard before. So I pick up, and all I can hear is heavy breathing. Now this is kind of awkward to me, so I ask "Hello?" More heavy breathing. I put on a crazy voice and I say "HELLO WHO IS THIS?"
Still no answer. I ask one more time, and I hear a garbled voice. So I turn around and lo and behold standing in the doorway behind me is the old Asian Food Services lady, talking on the phone of the classroom there.
How weird.
P.S. No I don't have the hots for the fucking Food Services lady, you sick prick.
Basically, it starts like this: I was at school. No, I wasn't naked. I was just at school. I think I was looking for someone, because I know that I'd stop every few minutes to ask someone something. Anyways, I keep walking until I get to the corner of the Little Theatre. You know, that corner that faces the hill. Yeah, I was there. I was about to ask the people there the same question I'd asked many times before when... All of a sudden, my cell phone starts ringing, in a ring tone I'd never heard before. So I pick up, and all I can hear is heavy breathing. Now this is kind of awkward to me, so I ask "Hello?" More heavy breathing. I put on a crazy voice and I say "HELLO WHO IS THIS?"
Still no answer. I ask one more time, and I hear a garbled voice. So I turn around and lo and behold standing in the doorway behind me is the old Asian Food Services lady, talking on the phone of the classroom there.
How weird.
P.S. No I don't have the hots for the fucking Food Services lady, you sick prick.
Arthur Lee on 7:27 am 0 comments
Friday,June 18th, 2004
Yearbooks
Dear (name),
It was great having you in (class) with (Mr/Mrs/Ms) (teacher).
You are a really (adjective) person. (inside jokes). Have a great summer! KIT: (phone number).
- (signature)
It was great having you in (class) with (Mr/Mrs/Ms) (teacher).
You are a really (adjective) person. (inside jokes). Have a great summer! KIT: (phone number).
- (signature)
Arthur Lee on 9:58 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,June 16th, 2004
4 new Wilfreds and a half-baked entry.
First things first, a batch of new Wilfreds. As you can tell, I'm kind of running out of material.
Issue 25: What didn't happen tonight.
Issue 26: Arthur reads his yearbook.
Issue 27: Arthur reads his yearbook parte II.
Issue 28: Arthur reads his yearbook parte III.
Secondly, this:
Have you ever noticed how stupid yearbook autographs are? Conceptually, it's good to know someone cares (or is obligated to care) enough about you to write a paragraph about how great you are. Where it fails is implementation.
Man I'm too tired, I can't finish this tonight. I'll do it tomorrow, I swear.
Issue 25: What didn't happen tonight.
Issue 26: Arthur reads his yearbook.
Issue 27: Arthur reads his yearbook parte II.
Issue 28: Arthur reads his yearbook parte III.
Secondly, this:
Have you ever noticed how stupid yearbook autographs are? Conceptually, it's good to know someone cares (or is obligated to care) enough about you to write a paragraph about how great you are. Where it fails is implementation.
Man I'm too tired, I can't finish this tonight. I'll do it tomorrow, I swear.
Arthur Lee on 7:27 pm 0 comments
Monday,June 14th, 2004
Frame
Hey, big man fans. Today I bring with you a funny little anecdote, which should be a welcome break from the string of emotionally charged sob-story posts I'm sure you're all used to by now.
This funny story takes place this afternoon. The characters in this story? Me, Allan, and Bennett. We had just finished "studying" for our Chemistry final. Now don't get me wrong, when I use the word "study", I really mean "not study", but I guess that's really besides the point. Anyways, after an hour straight of "studying," well... Let's just say it's like a forest -- it's easy to get lost. This state of utter (as opposed to udder) confusion bred an all new type of evil: insanity. Imagine 3 guys, lying down on the ground of a living room. One is in the corner launching projectiles from his mouth, another is sucking on a huge plastic ball (no sexual innuendo intended, though it is welcome), and the other is just lying there. That's us. Except we were making noises with our mouths that resembled music. Or rather, our groans were laced with music, like a tainted brownie or something.
What happens next is nothing short of amazing. We all go to my bedroom, where sitting on a high pedestal of light is my computer. I put on some music: The Strokes (Duh, haha) - 12:51. And then.
We started jumping around and dancing and singing alloud.
So here I was in the heat of the moment, jumping up and down, screaming the lyrics to the song, moving my head side to side when all of a sudden I found my lips on someone's dick. Actually, I lied. What happened was in the excitement and the thrill of the dance, I kind of jumped onto my bed. And I kind of ruined the frame. Serves me right for being fat.
Another thing that happened to me was the Scored Group Discussion we had in Mrs. Moore's class. This is what I would say if the world were an ideal place:
I spent all of 2nd period studying for the discussion. I actually went through all of my notated pages and made additional notes where I discovered new information.
Obviously, the world is not an ideal place. The truth of the matter is I spent all of 2nd period studying Poker cards, losing a cool two bucks (I was 2 out of 3; Sam ended up losing first [as was expected]).
So when Mrs. Moore's class comes along, you can probably guess my reaction. Something along the lines of: "ohcrapimdoomedohfuckohfuck."
Well anyways, skipping the plot of the story, we can see that the moral of the story is that the less you prepare, the more likely you are to finding/creating a viable 'BS' response. I think I did well, but I'll leave my final judgement for tomorrow, when I will invade Mrs. Moore's room to see my grade.
Until then, "ja mata" (I think that's how the Japanese people say 'suck a cock, asshole', but I could be wrong).
This funny story takes place this afternoon. The characters in this story? Me, Allan, and Bennett. We had just finished "studying" for our Chemistry final. Now don't get me wrong, when I use the word "study", I really mean "not study", but I guess that's really besides the point. Anyways, after an hour straight of "studying," well... Let's just say it's like a forest -- it's easy to get lost. This state of utter (as opposed to udder) confusion bred an all new type of evil: insanity. Imagine 3 guys, lying down on the ground of a living room. One is in the corner launching projectiles from his mouth, another is sucking on a huge plastic ball (no sexual innuendo intended, though it is welcome), and the other is just lying there. That's us. Except we were making noises with our mouths that resembled music. Or rather, our groans were laced with music, like a tainted brownie or something.
What happens next is nothing short of amazing. We all go to my bedroom, where sitting on a high pedestal of light is my computer. I put on some music: The Strokes (Duh, haha) - 12:51. And then.
We started jumping around and dancing and singing alloud.
So here I was in the heat of the moment, jumping up and down, screaming the lyrics to the song, moving my head side to side when all of a sudden I found my lips on someone's dick. Actually, I lied. What happened was in the excitement and the thrill of the dance, I kind of jumped onto my bed. And I kind of ruined the frame. Serves me right for being fat.
Another thing that happened to me was the Scored Group Discussion we had in Mrs. Moore's class. This is what I would say if the world were an ideal place:
I spent all of 2nd period studying for the discussion. I actually went through all of my notated pages and made additional notes where I discovered new information.
Obviously, the world is not an ideal place. The truth of the matter is I spent all of 2nd period studying Poker cards, losing a cool two bucks (I was 2 out of 3; Sam ended up losing first [as was expected]).
So when Mrs. Moore's class comes along, you can probably guess my reaction. Something along the lines of: "ohcrapimdoomedohfuckohfuck."
Well anyways, skipping the plot of the story, we can see that the moral of the story is that the less you prepare, the more likely you are to finding/creating a viable 'BS' response. I think I did well, but I'll leave my final judgement for tomorrow, when I will invade Mrs. Moore's room to see my grade.
Until then, "ja mata" (I think that's how the Japanese people say 'suck a cock, asshole', but I could be wrong).
Arthur Lee on 6:17 pm 0 comments
Saturday,June 12th, 2004
Apologia Pro Stupidity Meo
Yesterday. Allan, Bennett and I went to Bennett's house after school. I don't remember why we even bothered to drop by there, but I do remember being attacked by a flying ninja-star. Or maybe it was just a star shaped pillow, but that's beside the point. Then we drove down and got a bite to eat at Subway. I saw this one girl from our school that I think is pretty cute, but that's probably completely just because of my disgustingly awful bad taste in girls. (No offense to any of the girls I think are cute, of course) Afterwards, we all went to my house and saw Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels. Hilarity ensues and eventually we find ourselves at Park Place buying tickets for Shrek 2. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but there's something definitely not-straight about three grown guys going to see Shrek 2 together. It wouldn't be too bad it if it was Manquest II: A Head Ripping Sequel, but it really wasn't. Oh yeah, Shrek 2 was good.
The Day After Yesterday. I woke up at 10 today and tried to figure out ways to cool my computer down (Life sucks being a nerd). After about 3 hours of hard work and dedication, I accomplished absolutely nothing.
Poetic justice. Some guy at some Blizzard Entertainment hacking forum was using one of my Pod Dance pictures as his avatar. What did I do? Let's just say his forum buddies will be in for an anus of a good time.
Summer. It's almost that time again when school ends and not-school begins. I never really did have a very good outlook on Summer anyways. All I can remember is every year, the day after the last day of school, my mom would always propose a "plan." Now, this wasn't just any plan, this was a "how I can make my sons absolutely miserable by forcing them to do some sort of academic work" kind of plan. She would buy hugemongous books that promised to make "learning FUN" (like those silly Sylvan Learning commercials where the once-dyslexic child stays up until 2:00 reading a novel alloud). Its overall effect on me? A burning hatred for anything educational. On occassion I also use it as an excuse for my laziness in schoolwork.
(SPOILER: Next few paragraphs are emo.)
I think too much, and not in an academic way. I think too much about my relationships with other people. I look too far into the slightest actions and make big deals of the most minute details.
Everybody knows I'm self-conscious, but nobody knows the extent of it. I'm borderline neurotic about what people think of me and even more so about losing my friends. The way I figure it is nobody's really my friend unless they act like it. And if they don't act like it, they've got to give me some confirmation of some sort, otherwise I assume the worst.
Now about now, under any other circumstances, I would blame these problems on the issues I've had with certain to-remain-unnamed people in the past, say, 3 years. That's what I'd do on any other day except today. Today I'm going to open my eyes for once and ask myself the question: What came first, the chicken or the egg?
Maybe I'm not neurotic because my friends don't like me. Maybe it's that my friends don't like me because I'm neurotic.
And with that idea comes the next question. Could I have avoided all of the problem I've had with my friends in the past if I would have just relaxed a little? Probably.
So what now? I could continue living my life like this, not making any changes, pretending that by some act of grace, somebody out there will learn to look past my neurotic behaviour. But well know that's crap -- nobody's tolerant of anything these days, and to think someone will turn around and magically realize they've "made a mistake" and that they "want to be friends again" is just a big illusion you put up so you don't feel like a loser. So instead of just moaning about it and putting the rest of it in the hands of the people I've fucked up with, I'm going to fix my own problem and learn from the times I've fucked up.
What I have to learn is there's more to a friendship than memorable times. Not every conversation has to end with a deep thought. Not every day has to begin and end with a meaningful greeting. Not every meeting has to be acknowledged with a wave and a "hi." People have lives, and their lives don't have to revolve around me.
The moment I can finally come to grips with that is the time that I finally loosen up. And the time I finally loosen up is the time that I finally become less neurotic. And when I become less neurotic I'll have less friends that don't like me.
So with that I'm going to formally apologize to everyone I've ever subjected to my neurotic stupidity: AW, CC (Just one of you), CN, DA, and ML. The mistakes I've made and relationships I've broken off are done and overwith, but from this point on I'm going to learn from my mistakes and make sure I don't make the same mistakes again.
The Day After Yesterday. I woke up at 10 today and tried to figure out ways to cool my computer down (Life sucks being a nerd). After about 3 hours of hard work and dedication, I accomplished absolutely nothing.
Poetic justice. Some guy at some Blizzard Entertainment hacking forum was using one of my Pod Dance pictures as his avatar. What did I do? Let's just say his forum buddies will be in for an anus of a good time.
Summer. It's almost that time again when school ends and not-school begins. I never really did have a very good outlook on Summer anyways. All I can remember is every year, the day after the last day of school, my mom would always propose a "plan." Now, this wasn't just any plan, this was a "how I can make my sons absolutely miserable by forcing them to do some sort of academic work" kind of plan. She would buy hugemongous books that promised to make "learning FUN" (like those silly Sylvan Learning commercials where the once-dyslexic child stays up until 2:00 reading a novel alloud). Its overall effect on me? A burning hatred for anything educational. On occassion I also use it as an excuse for my laziness in schoolwork.
(SPOILER: Next few paragraphs are emo.)
I think too much, and not in an academic way. I think too much about my relationships with other people. I look too far into the slightest actions and make big deals of the most minute details.
Everybody knows I'm self-conscious, but nobody knows the extent of it. I'm borderline neurotic about what people think of me and even more so about losing my friends. The way I figure it is nobody's really my friend unless they act like it. And if they don't act like it, they've got to give me some confirmation of some sort, otherwise I assume the worst.
Now about now, under any other circumstances, I would blame these problems on the issues I've had with certain to-remain-unnamed people in the past, say, 3 years. That's what I'd do on any other day except today. Today I'm going to open my eyes for once and ask myself the question: What came first, the chicken or the egg?
Maybe I'm not neurotic because my friends don't like me. Maybe it's that my friends don't like me because I'm neurotic.
And with that idea comes the next question. Could I have avoided all of the problem I've had with my friends in the past if I would have just relaxed a little? Probably.
So what now? I could continue living my life like this, not making any changes, pretending that by some act of grace, somebody out there will learn to look past my neurotic behaviour. But well know that's crap -- nobody's tolerant of anything these days, and to think someone will turn around and magically realize they've "made a mistake" and that they "want to be friends again" is just a big illusion you put up so you don't feel like a loser. So instead of just moaning about it and putting the rest of it in the hands of the people I've fucked up with, I'm going to fix my own problem and learn from the times I've fucked up.
What I have to learn is there's more to a friendship than memorable times. Not every conversation has to end with a deep thought. Not every day has to begin and end with a meaningful greeting. Not every meeting has to be acknowledged with a wave and a "hi." People have lives, and their lives don't have to revolve around me.
The moment I can finally come to grips with that is the time that I finally loosen up. And the time I finally loosen up is the time that I finally become less neurotic. And when I become less neurotic I'll have less friends that don't like me.
So with that I'm going to formally apologize to everyone I've ever subjected to my neurotic stupidity: AW, CC (Just one of you), CN, DA, and ML. The mistakes I've made and relationships I've broken off are done and overwith, but from this point on I'm going to learn from my mistakes and make sure I don't make the same mistakes again.
Arthur Lee on 7:30 pm 0 comments
Thursday,June 10th, 2004
WTF
A Goblin Lord stands before you.
He growls," You may only pass if you best me in a duel. But spare yourself your life and pay 5 gold points and I will give you safe journey across this bridge."
What do you do?
He growls," You may only pass if you best me in a duel. But spare yourself your life and pay 5 gold points and I will give you safe journey across this bridge."
What do you do?
Arthur Lee on 12:26 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,June 08th, 2004
Euphoria vs. Dread
Two words to describe my day: euphoria and dread.
It really starts in second period, AP Computer Science, where our group projects were due. The first group to go up (Lucky number 13, which ironically IS my lucky number) presented their game: a modified version of Monopoly. I mean okay, I'm sure they put a lot of blood, sweat, and effort into coding their game (as the spent a good ten minutes explaining, in depth), but no matter how many different features or rules they added to it, in the end it was always just Monopoly. It was impossible to follow what any of the speakers were saying because it was filled with jargon and lots of crap frankly nobody would've cared about. They did have AI, though, but like I said, it's just Monopoly. The crowd was generally unimpressed.
The next group to go was group number 2. My "group." I use the word "group" lightly, I worked alone on my game because I didn't want to have to make compromises with another person, and also because it's often hard to put together the pieces of code that everyone wrote on their own into a cohesive product.
I had a bit of a problem getting my program to start up, but I used that time to deliver my "speech." Whereas group number 13 spent 25 minutes explaining the inner workings of their "Monopoly class" and how it interacts with the "Player class" to return a boolean false for method "doICare()", I spent about 5 minutes with my "speech", if you can call me stalling for 5 minutes while my program was loading a speech. Ironically, whereas group 13 spent 25 minutes never once gaining the audience's attention, the audience was mine by the time I had finished my first sentence: "...the point of my game is to run around and kill Sam." I finally got it running and that's when it became real easy: Everybody was so enthralled by my game that nobody really paid attention to the fact that I really hadn't had anything of substance in my speech. In fact, I could get away with such classic lines as "My game is kind of slow because I'm dumb."
I can tell Mr. Reid was impressed as well, despite his initial preface to the presentations ("Don't give a project a high score only because it looks good."). I made sure to drive it home that every aspect of the game except the weapon sounds were completely original and that I had made everything from scratch. You know, just because I like showing off like that.
Nobody quite knew how any of it worked, but they knew it was pretty and that's all that really mattered to them. Case in point: I eventually asked them during my killing spree if anybody had any questions about how my game worked, and not a single hand went up. And I hadn't said a single word about how any of it worked. Without sounding too much like Super Elitist BigEgoMan, I think I did well.
The group that went after me (I think 6) had an immigration simulation. Remember when I said that when people work on projects together, it's hard to put it together into a coherent single product? Boom, I rest my case.
I don't know what these kids were doing during the one month we had to do the project. Wait, actually, yes I do. Sam was busy looking up retarded crap on eBay, Brandon was busy yelling at Stevo, and Stevo was busy looking for images on Google. If it's any indication as to how much of a disaster the project was, this event actually occured:
"So if you try to buy a medicine without enough money, it won't let you."
Stevo then clicked on the Buy Medicine button while not having enough money. The game bought it anyways. And these were bugs that were found DURING the presentation, I can't imagine the other bugs that you'd find just by playing the game.
So that rounded out the 3 projects that went to present today. I'm pretty sure I did well, hence: euphoria.
So about dread. Dread is a feeling that's been around me all week. Tomorrow I've got an Honors English 3 final, as well as a big Spanish quiz. Add onto that the fact that I've got a huge homework assignement due the day after in Math, as well as a final in that class, and then the rest of the English final the day after that, it's pretty understandable where my feeling of dread comes from.
Speaking of English, I'm convinced Mrs. Moore is the greatest teacher in face of the gigaverse (It's like the universe, except... giga). Her Honors English 3 class has been by far the best class I've ever taken in my entire life in terms of how much I've learned as well as how fun it was. As for herself, imagine a teenager trapped in an adult body (like in that one Disney movie I didn't watch because it looked like crap). She's got a hilarious sense of humor that encompasses really witty and clever stuff to good old fashioned raunchy piss jokes. Also add onto that the fact that she knows what she's teaching and that she's got the class controlled but by no means TOO controlled. Yeah, best class, haha.
Yeah, well, trying to get back on topic, I was only reminded of how close to the end of the year we were when Mrs. Moore told us that she had nothing else left to teach us. And surprisingly, I was actually kind of sad about that.
Anyways, so that's what happened to me today. One last thing before I leave though, I'm going to have a Links section on the sidebar of SFDR pretty soon, and I was wondering if there were any people who'd like to have a mutual link...ership with me. If you'd leave me a comment with the URL of your site or your email, I'd be glad to give you a link if you would link to my site too. So yeah, that's about it. Have fun with the rest of your days, kids.
It really starts in second period, AP Computer Science, where our group projects were due. The first group to go up (Lucky number 13, which ironically IS my lucky number) presented their game: a modified version of Monopoly. I mean okay, I'm sure they put a lot of blood, sweat, and effort into coding their game (as the spent a good ten minutes explaining, in depth), but no matter how many different features or rules they added to it, in the end it was always just Monopoly. It was impossible to follow what any of the speakers were saying because it was filled with jargon and lots of crap frankly nobody would've cared about. They did have AI, though, but like I said, it's just Monopoly. The crowd was generally unimpressed.
The next group to go was group number 2. My "group." I use the word "group" lightly, I worked alone on my game because I didn't want to have to make compromises with another person, and also because it's often hard to put together the pieces of code that everyone wrote on their own into a cohesive product.
I had a bit of a problem getting my program to start up, but I used that time to deliver my "speech." Whereas group number 13 spent 25 minutes explaining the inner workings of their "Monopoly class" and how it interacts with the "Player class" to return a boolean false for method "doICare()", I spent about 5 minutes with my "speech", if you can call me stalling for 5 minutes while my program was loading a speech. Ironically, whereas group 13 spent 25 minutes never once gaining the audience's attention, the audience was mine by the time I had finished my first sentence: "...the point of my game is to run around and kill Sam." I finally got it running and that's when it became real easy: Everybody was so enthralled by my game that nobody really paid attention to the fact that I really hadn't had anything of substance in my speech. In fact, I could get away with such classic lines as "My game is kind of slow because I'm dumb."
I can tell Mr. Reid was impressed as well, despite his initial preface to the presentations ("Don't give a project a high score only because it looks good."). I made sure to drive it home that every aspect of the game except the weapon sounds were completely original and that I had made everything from scratch. You know, just because I like showing off like that.
Nobody quite knew how any of it worked, but they knew it was pretty and that's all that really mattered to them. Case in point: I eventually asked them during my killing spree if anybody had any questions about how my game worked, and not a single hand went up. And I hadn't said a single word about how any of it worked. Without sounding too much like Super Elitist BigEgoMan, I think I did well.
The group that went after me (I think 6) had an immigration simulation. Remember when I said that when people work on projects together, it's hard to put it together into a coherent single product? Boom, I rest my case.
I don't know what these kids were doing during the one month we had to do the project. Wait, actually, yes I do. Sam was busy looking up retarded crap on eBay, Brandon was busy yelling at Stevo, and Stevo was busy looking for images on Google. If it's any indication as to how much of a disaster the project was, this event actually occured:
"So if you try to buy a medicine without enough money, it won't let you."
Stevo then clicked on the Buy Medicine button while not having enough money. The game bought it anyways. And these were bugs that were found DURING the presentation, I can't imagine the other bugs that you'd find just by playing the game.
So that rounded out the 3 projects that went to present today. I'm pretty sure I did well, hence: euphoria.
So about dread. Dread is a feeling that's been around me all week. Tomorrow I've got an Honors English 3 final, as well as a big Spanish quiz. Add onto that the fact that I've got a huge homework assignement due the day after in Math, as well as a final in that class, and then the rest of the English final the day after that, it's pretty understandable where my feeling of dread comes from.
Speaking of English, I'm convinced Mrs. Moore is the greatest teacher in face of the gigaverse (It's like the universe, except... giga). Her Honors English 3 class has been by far the best class I've ever taken in my entire life in terms of how much I've learned as well as how fun it was. As for herself, imagine a teenager trapped in an adult body (like in that one Disney movie I didn't watch because it looked like crap). She's got a hilarious sense of humor that encompasses really witty and clever stuff to good old fashioned raunchy piss jokes. Also add onto that the fact that she knows what she's teaching and that she's got the class controlled but by no means TOO controlled. Yeah, best class, haha.
Yeah, well, trying to get back on topic, I was only reminded of how close to the end of the year we were when Mrs. Moore told us that she had nothing else left to teach us. And surprisingly, I was actually kind of sad about that.
Anyways, so that's what happened to me today. One last thing before I leave though, I'm going to have a Links section on the sidebar of SFDR pretty soon, and I was wondering if there were any people who'd like to have a mutual link...ership with me. If you'd leave me a comment with the URL of your site or your email, I'd be glad to give you a link if you would link to my site too. So yeah, that's about it. Have fun with the rest of your days, kids.
Arthur Lee on 7:27 pm 0 comments
GLOOM part deux
Screamshots:
Click MORE to see.
Soundtrack:
The Podunkian - Scientifically Augmented Groove (Title Theme)
The Podunkian - Failed Research (Ingame Theme)
The Podunkian - Big Fat Basstard (Results Theme Variation)
Click MORE to see.
Soundtrack:
The Podunkian - Scientifically Augmented Groove (Title Theme)
The Podunkian - Failed Research (Ingame Theme)
The Podunkian - Big Fat Basstard (Results Theme Variation)
Read More ...
Arthur Lee on 4:28 pm 0 comments
Sunday,June 06th, 2004
GLOOM
Man, this weekend was great. Saturday was Prom.
I didn't go.
You'd think I'd be upset over something like this, but I'm not. Reason? Enter:
GLOOM.
What exactly is GLOOM? It's been my pet project for almost a month now. Basically, think Wolfenstein.
People were really sketpical when I first pitched the idea of doing a Raycaster for my AP Computer Science project. Even more so when they heard I was doing it all alone. They said it couldn't be done, but this Summer, one Arthur Lee faces insurmountable odds in an epic journey that ... okay, I'll cut the crap, I did it.
To be honest, it's not that great, but you know, us programmers get really excited over the stupidest things. Case in point: When I got my raycaster to work with non-textured walls and very very slow display, I had a crowd of people around my corner.
Fast forward a couple of weeks, I've got textured walls, rendered sprites (though they're kind of iffy behind walls but that's okay), weapons that work, Sam's that die, and a feature that lets me view myself in 3rd person. With original music, and completely original art.
MAN I'M SO GONNA GET THAT A+...............
I didn't go.
You'd think I'd be upset over something like this, but I'm not. Reason? Enter:
GLOOM.
What exactly is GLOOM? It's been my pet project for almost a month now. Basically, think Wolfenstein.
People were really sketpical when I first pitched the idea of doing a Raycaster for my AP Computer Science project. Even more so when they heard I was doing it all alone. They said it couldn't be done, but this Summer, one Arthur Lee faces insurmountable odds in an epic journey that ... okay, I'll cut the crap, I did it.
To be honest, it's not that great, but you know, us programmers get really excited over the stupidest things. Case in point: When I got my raycaster to work with non-textured walls and very very slow display, I had a crowd of people around my corner.
Fast forward a couple of weeks, I've got textured walls, rendered sprites (though they're kind of iffy behind walls but that's okay), weapons that work, Sam's that die, and a feature that lets me view myself in 3rd person. With original music, and completely original art.
MAN I'M SO GONNA GET THAT A+...............
Arthur Lee on 6:26 pm 0 comments
Monday,May 31st, 2004
Two new Wilfreds.
Two new Wilfreds for your relative enjoyment.
Issue 23: Jason Cruise gets blown away.
Issue 24: I hate life.
Issue 23: Jason Cruise gets blown away.
Issue 24: I hate life.
Arthur Lee on 8:24 pm 0 comments
Jackie Chan is my god.
I'm convinced Jackie Chan can take out an entire country with a ladder and a jacket.
Arthur Lee on 5:16 pm 0 comments
Saturday,May 29th, 2004
You read this one ok?
One thing I've always found weird is the fact that adults talk to babies in broken English. You know, "Little boo boo baby wantee bottle?"
Put this into perspective: When you talk to a foreigner, how often is it that you talk in normal English? You're either emphasizing the more "difficult" words, like "street" and "right turn," or you're completely omitting conjunctions and talking caveman.
Why is it that we subconsioucly put foreigners on the same intellectual plane as babies? Just because a foreigner sometimes forgets to put a "the" in the right place doesn't make that person necessarily stupid. I mean come on, I dare you to go to China, let's see how well you speak Chinese.
Put this into perspective: When you talk to a foreigner, how often is it that you talk in normal English? You're either emphasizing the more "difficult" words, like "street" and "right turn," or you're completely omitting conjunctions and talking caveman.
Why is it that we subconsioucly put foreigners on the same intellectual plane as babies? Just because a foreigner sometimes forgets to put a "the" in the right place doesn't make that person necessarily stupid. I mean come on, I dare you to go to China, let's see how well you speak Chinese.
Arthur Lee on 6:25 pm 0 comments
Thursday,May 27th, 2004
Jackass.
Here's a funny story: Today I stood and rode on the outside of Allan's car, holding onto the handle in the inside and standing on the step to the door. He sped up pretty quickly and scared the crap out of me. Then he made a sharp turn. I fell and rolled about 5 feet. This lady looked at me and said "Oh my God, are you alright?"
I guess you all know the answer to that.
I guess you all know the answer to that.
Arthur Lee on 6:18 pm 0 comments
Super Fun Story Time Redux.
Hey guys, I've put up an all new Extend-A-Story. I really don't care what happens, but if I get any retarded "LOL PENIS" kind of entries, I'm going to delete them. If you're going to try to be funny (emphasis on try), at least give it some effort.
That said, enjoy, and join the fun, moron. Extend-A-Story
That said, enjoy, and join the fun, moron. Extend-A-Story
Arthur Lee on 5:21 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,May 26th, 2004
Sad Rant I
There is something definitely, definitely wrong with me. And no it's not my lack of a penis (this time). Who else can proudly proclaim that in the course of one year they have made and lost three close friends. Just me, I think.
The thing that pisses me off the most is how unavoidable it is. The first time it happened, well, my mistake. We all hear from our cheery eyed counsellers that we learn from our mistakes. So we try again, and I make the same mistake again. So the third time's the charm, right? I make a conscious effort to avoid the problem, but it happens again.
To be honest, the third time really isn't my fault, and there's no reason I should be feeling bad about it, but I do, you know? It's not every day that you lose the trust of another person, and so treating it like it's nothing really doesn't sit well with me. But at the same time, I'm right. I did what I was SUPPOSED to do, and that was to stand up for myself (for once). But in the end, all of that accoutned for nothing. I'm back where I was a few months ago, and even a few more months before that. To quote a friend of mine "I've lost it for sure."
What ever happened to humility? Why are people so arrogant that they can't stand to lower themselves just for a damned second to tell someone else they were wrong, and that they are sorry, and that they will try their best to fix their problems. It's even worse if you know they know, which I do know. How can a person be aware of how much it torments me and yet do nothing about it?
Maybe I'm just too trusting. Maybe I need to stop making single-serving friends. Throughout this entire mess there's only been one person who's always been there for me. Maybe I need to stop looking in crazy places for something that I already have right in front of me.
The thing that pisses me off the most is how unavoidable it is. The first time it happened, well, my mistake. We all hear from our cheery eyed counsellers that we learn from our mistakes. So we try again, and I make the same mistake again. So the third time's the charm, right? I make a conscious effort to avoid the problem, but it happens again.
To be honest, the third time really isn't my fault, and there's no reason I should be feeling bad about it, but I do, you know? It's not every day that you lose the trust of another person, and so treating it like it's nothing really doesn't sit well with me. But at the same time, I'm right. I did what I was SUPPOSED to do, and that was to stand up for myself (for once). But in the end, all of that accoutned for nothing. I'm back where I was a few months ago, and even a few more months before that. To quote a friend of mine "I've lost it for sure."
What ever happened to humility? Why are people so arrogant that they can't stand to lower themselves just for a damned second to tell someone else they were wrong, and that they are sorry, and that they will try their best to fix their problems. It's even worse if you know they know, which I do know. How can a person be aware of how much it torments me and yet do nothing about it?
Maybe I'm just too trusting. Maybe I need to stop making single-serving friends. Throughout this entire mess there's only been one person who's always been there for me. Maybe I need to stop looking in crazy places for something that I already have right in front of me.
Arthur Lee on 6:49 pm 0 comments
A replacement.
You know what bugs me? Gender stereotypes. Now don't get me wrong, a grown man wearing flower printed shirts is still very, very incorrect, but the kind of stereotypes I'm talking about are different. I'm talking about how it's okay for guys to fart in public, but when a girl farts it's like the world just exploded. In the same way, why is it so wrong for a girl to suck a guy's dick but not another guy. Wait, bad example.
Why is it so strange to see a man in the kitchen. Why is it so wrong to see a woman doing construction work. Why are girls expected to be weak and fragile while guys buff and strong?
The answer? I don't know, but what I do know is that this topic was only brought up because of my belief in the unfairness of PMS.
Why is it so strange to see a man in the kitchen. Why is it so wrong to see a woman doing construction work. Why are girls expected to be weak and fragile while guys buff and strong?
The answer? I don't know, but what I do know is that this topic was only brought up because of my belief in the unfairness of PMS.
Arthur Lee on 6:36 pm 0 comments
Monday,May 24th, 2004
Be afraid.
You thought you were safe. And for awhile you were. But those days are over...
I have a new digital camera and I'm ready to kick some ass and take some names... and pictures too.
I have a new digital camera and I'm ready to kick some ass and take some names... and pictures too.
Arthur Lee on 5:05 pm 0 comments
Friday,May 21st, 2004
Meloldramatic
Check out my classic cartoon series Meloldramatic. It's near the bottom, chum.
Arthur Lee on 12:53 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,May 19th, 2004
.
"You're a worthless shit and I hate you for no reason. Hope we can still be friends."
Arthur Lee on 3:29 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,May 18th, 2004
Best Friends
Dear Journal,
Today I had a fabulous day at the community park with my best friend. We went bike riding until about 3:00 until we saw some ducks sitting by the pond. Luckily I had a ham and cheese sandwich from lunch so me and her spent time feeding the ducks some bread. Afterwards, we went to a local Rite Aid where we got some Vanilla Ice cream. While sharing the ice cream we had a serious talk about our relationship together. I can't really get into the specifics in here, but it ends with both of us crying on each others' shoulders. She told me that I wasn't the best friend in the world, and that many things about me really annoyed her. I told her that I thought our relationship was falliing apart. For the first time in my life, I felt truly rejected.
But it is then that she looked into my eyes and told me that even though I wasn't a perfect person, she still cared a lot about me and wanted to be more than just my friend. She told me that she had learned to accept my shortcomings and to forgive me for my mistakes. It was then that I knew I had been wrong about our relationship. We weren't falling apart, but our bond was growing stronger. By this time, we had finished the entire carton of icecream, so we both hugged each other and went back home. In all of my life, I don't remember any time where I have ever felt this moved.
Probably because it never happened.
Today I had a fabulous day at the community park with my best friend. We went bike riding until about 3:00 until we saw some ducks sitting by the pond. Luckily I had a ham and cheese sandwich from lunch so me and her spent time feeding the ducks some bread. Afterwards, we went to a local Rite Aid where we got some Vanilla Ice cream. While sharing the ice cream we had a serious talk about our relationship together. I can't really get into the specifics in here, but it ends with both of us crying on each others' shoulders. She told me that I wasn't the best friend in the world, and that many things about me really annoyed her. I told her that I thought our relationship was falliing apart. For the first time in my life, I felt truly rejected.
But it is then that she looked into my eyes and told me that even though I wasn't a perfect person, she still cared a lot about me and wanted to be more than just my friend. She told me that she had learned to accept my shortcomings and to forgive me for my mistakes. It was then that I knew I had been wrong about our relationship. We weren't falling apart, but our bond was growing stronger. By this time, we had finished the entire carton of icecream, so we both hugged each other and went back home. In all of my life, I don't remember any time where I have ever felt this moved.
Probably because it never happened.
Arthur Lee on 6:45 pm 0 comments
How To Be Successful
Success is measured in many ways. Some people measure success in wealth. Others in the number of times they've had unprotected sex. While even others in the number of eProps they get from their friends (agentorange51). And yet still there are those who measure their success in their grades. And of course good grades require good homework habits.
Or do they?
The best part about homework is how often it becomes classwork. For me especially. It's funny, I've got this great schedule that I follow everyday and it hasn't failed me (very often):
AP Euro: Do Math & Spanish
AP Comp Sci: Do Math & Spanish
Spanish 3: No time for fucking around.
Snack: Mack it, baby, mack it.
Pre-Calculus: Copy Math. Do English & Chemistry
Honors English 3: Do Chemistry
Lunch: Do Chemistry.
Chemistry: Do Chemistry.
Sometimes I'm amazed by the amount of effort I put into cheating. And then I wonder what kind of things I would've accomplished if I spent that same effort just doing the work at home. And then I wonder what kind of great grades I would be getting if I did. And then I remember what great gades I get. And then I go back in my dark, dark closet as punishment.
P.S. For everyone who forgot (you know, all you uncool and unhip people), it was my 17th birthday yesterday (coincidentally the 17th of May). Thanks to everyone who remembered and to everyone who wished me a good one. Now if you'll excuse me there are so Rated-R for Strong Sexual Content and Nudity movies that I need to go see.
Or do they?
The best part about homework is how often it becomes classwork. For me especially. It's funny, I've got this great schedule that I follow everyday and it hasn't failed me (very often):
AP Euro: Do Math & Spanish
AP Comp Sci: Do Math & Spanish
Spanish 3: No time for fucking around.
Snack: Mack it, baby, mack it.
Pre-Calculus: Copy Math. Do English & Chemistry
Honors English 3: Do Chemistry
Lunch: Do Chemistry.
Chemistry: Do Chemistry.
Sometimes I'm amazed by the amount of effort I put into cheating. And then I wonder what kind of things I would've accomplished if I spent that same effort just doing the work at home. And then I wonder what kind of great grades I would be getting if I did. And then I remember what great gades I get. And then I go back in my dark, dark closet as punishment.
P.S. For everyone who forgot (you know, all you uncool and unhip people), it was my 17th birthday yesterday (coincidentally the 17th of May). Thanks to everyone who remembered and to everyone who wished me a good one. Now if you'll excuse me there are so Rated-R for Strong Sexual Content and Nudity movies that I need to go see.
Arthur Lee on 6:26 pm 0 comments
Tasteless
My site got blocked on the school servers. Reason: "Tasteless"
Hahahahaha
Hahahahaha
Arthur Lee on 12:13 pm 0 comments
Sunday,May 16th, 2004
Oh! You remembered!
17 years ago, my parents made the worst mistake of their lives.
Arthur Lee on 7:23 pm 0 comments
Saturday,May 15th, 2004
Something profound.
You know, I decided to break the silence by writing a profound entry.
Words that Sound Perverted
Masticate: To chew.
Stop masticating on that carrot.
Exacerbate: To make worse.
It was bad enough until you exacerbated the situation.
Congenital: Present at birth.
He was born with a congenital condition.
Phalanx: A close group of people.
Look at the size of that phalanx.
Banal: Ordinary.
She told me many times that she hates its banality.
Phantasm: A ghost.
The movie reached its climax at the sight of the phantasm.
Fallacy: Something untrue.
It is a fallacy to confuse this word with phallus.
Words that Sound Perverted
Masticate: To chew.
Stop masticating on that carrot.
Exacerbate: To make worse.
It was bad enough until you exacerbated the situation.
Congenital: Present at birth.
He was born with a congenital condition.
Phalanx: A close group of people.
Look at the size of that phalanx.
Banal: Ordinary.
She told me many times that she hates its banality.
Phantasm: A ghost.
The movie reached its climax at the sight of the phantasm.
Fallacy: Something untrue.
It is a fallacy to confuse this word with phallus.
Arthur Lee on 7:48 pm 0 comments
Wednesday,May 12th, 2004
A Great Quote
"This isn't time for Toontown."
- Mr. Ives, referring to someone watching BadgerBadgerBadger in computer lab.
- Mr. Ives, referring to someone watching BadgerBadgerBadger in computer lab.
Arthur Lee on 2:27 am 0 comments
Friday,May 07th, 2004
Let's put it into perspective.
June 6th, 194244. (Even Gods make mistakes.)
D-Day, millions of soldiers lost their lives to the raging fire of machine gun emplacements and artillery bombardments on Omaha Beach.
September 11th, 2001.
Thousands of Americans lost their lives when al Qaeda terrorists hijacked two airplanes and crashed them into the World Trade Center buildings in New York.
March 11th, 2004.
Thousands of Spaniards lost their lives when terrorists bombed a train in Madrid.
May 7th, 2004.
I took the AP Exam.
D-Day, millions of soldiers lost their lives to the raging fire of machine gun emplacements and artillery bombardments on Omaha Beach.
September 11th, 2001.
Thousands of Americans lost their lives when al Qaeda terrorists hijacked two airplanes and crashed them into the World Trade Center buildings in New York.
March 11th, 2004.
Thousands of Spaniards lost their lives when terrorists bombed a train in Madrid.
May 7th, 2004.
I took the AP Exam.
Arthur Lee on 4:49 pm 0 comments
Thursday,May 06th, 2004
THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT
I think speak on the behalf of all of you when I say:
APFUCKINGEUROOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG
OMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG
OMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG
OMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG.
Thank you.
APFUCKINGEUROOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG
OMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG
OMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG
OMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFGOMFG.
Thank you.
Arthur Lee on 11:07 am 0 comments
Wednesday,May 05th, 2004
R.I.P. Fatty
As with all great TV shows, the season finale of Wilfred Makes a Friend ends with the death of one of the main characters...
Issue 19: Emilia copes with life.
Issue 20: Emilia copes with life part deux.
Issue 21: Emilia copes with life part 3.
Issue 19: Emilia copes with life.
Issue 20: Emilia copes with life part deux.
Issue 21: Emilia copes with life part 3.
Arthur Lee on 6:27 pm 0 comments
Another obscure cartoon for your carnal pleasure.
Issue 18: Wilfred makes contact.
Completely based on a true story. Mostly.
You know what's the worst part about fixing other people's computers? It's people that don't pick up after themselves. There's nothing more... shocking? embarassing? I don't know, there's nothing more SOMETHING than trying to delete a program, only to discover porn in the recycle bin. Or typing a URL into the address bar and having something like sexyjapanesegirls.com come up.
Happened to me once. Then I realized I was using his mouse. And keyboard. He was a righty, so I got my hand off the mouse as soon as possible. True story. It sucked. Someone shoot me now.
Completely based on a true story. Mostly.
You know what's the worst part about fixing other people's computers? It's people that don't pick up after themselves. There's nothing more... shocking? embarassing? I don't know, there's nothing more SOMETHING than trying to delete a program, only to discover porn in the recycle bin. Or typing a URL into the address bar and having something like sexyjapanesegirls.com come up.
Happened to me once. Then I realized I was using his mouse. And keyboard. He was a righty, so I got my hand off the mouse as soon as possible. True story. It sucked. Someone shoot me now.
Arthur Lee on 5:43 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,May 04th, 2004
Fishing.
People keep telling me there're other fish in the sea.
Let me get two things straight:
A) I hate cooked fish.
B) I hate fishing.
Not to mention I've got no bait. Maybe I should become a vegetarian.
Let me get two things straight:
A) I hate cooked fish.
B) I hate fishing.
Not to mention I've got no bait. Maybe I should become a vegetarian.
Arthur Lee on 6:51 pm 0 comments
Wilfred... Merch?
It's true. But it's not on sale (sadly for you.):
Wilfred Merchendise. Muchisimo thanks to Jonny.
And a new portrait for your viewing displeasure.
Wilfred Merchendise. Muchisimo thanks to Jonny.
And a new portrait for your viewing displeasure.
Arthur Lee on 5:44 pm 0 comments
Friday,April 30th, 2004
Now for some Audio Rape.
The Loaded Tommies (my one man "band") make a return with an all new song for all of my homiez out there who're struggling with me.
The Loaded Tommies - Arthur Lee - Failing Euro
Enjoy.
The Loaded Tommies - Arthur Lee - Failing Euro
Enjoy.
Arthur Lee on 5:58 pm 0 comments
Thursday,April 29th, 2004
Achtung
That said, new Wilfred Makes a Friend (Issue 17), for your viewing pleasure. Click here for a detailed explanation.
Arthur Lee on 6:05 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,April 27th, 2004
Canterbury Tales
A NUN in black with us did tread,
A halo fixed upon her head,
Like daylight's sun did shine abright,
And set aflame the ashen night,
Quite short and stout was she in size,
Her holy mouth had told not lies,
She loved God's creatures, short and tall,
Though fatty creatures most of all,
Did she adore with unfound zeal,
And watched them run inside a wheel,
She knew the sacred text by heart.
And readily did she impart,
Her knowledge in a grand display,
(Though little, in truth, did she have to say),
For vast her knoweldge of Bible passage,
I could not find a single message.
A thin young LASS with us did tread,
With short black hair upon her head,
A tiny jacket upon her breast,
All in all she was well dressed,
She often spoke with biting wit,
A clever girl I must admit,
Though quick her tongue and mind may be,
She'd sooner talk than bend a knee,
For duties she would often shirk,
And rarely did I see her work,
If a word could name vocation,
Hers would be Procrastination.
And was a SYCOPHANT of lowly rank,
A kind young fellow to be quite frank,
A man whose hand he would extend,
If one would pledge to be his friend,
His house had been a prison cell,
Of which he likened to the depths of hell,
With conditions not fit for even beasts,
(Though he never mentioned his daily feasts),
His parents were to him a curse,
He evoked our pity to fill his purse,
He had sunglasses on his nose,
And expensive shoes beneath his toes,
(How he afforded, nobody knows,
He'd got them as donations I suppose),
And dressed in his marvellous regale,
He repeated again his tragic tale:
And through his stories he gained acclaim,
Though sadder still none know his name.
And in this group there was a GIRL,
With glistening eyes and mouth of pearl,
Her personality I'll not forget,
She showed her kindness to all she met,
(She went so far as to humor the NERD.
-- Her voice like that of a singing bird),
Her dress adorned with florid design,
Protected her from all malign,
Though in her sleeve she hid a blade,
And often stayed behind the parade,
For underneath her kind complexion,
Was a soul devoid of affection,
And though the company she enjoyed,
She was always quite paranoid,
A jilted love left her in pain,
And ensured she never trust again,
So when she travelled she wore a smile,
And with beauty she would beguile,
For the ends would justify the means,
(and trickery was in her genes),
With rhetoric and skillful speak,
She tricked her way up to the peak,
So no one would ever dare surmise,
That she had built her life on lies,
(And sadly though as hard she tries,
I myself see through her disquise)
A NERD there was, alone in sitting,
Whose appearance of a nerd befitting,
His glasses hid his slit-like eyes,
A blameless man, no faults or lies,
His face, a scholary display,
(He refused underwear, they say),
His pants were tight, and his clothing was neat,
His nose raised quite slightly (as per the elite),
His shoes were well shined (though his feet were quiet stiff),
He walked with a manner that would make you wonder if,
He had to compensate for a missing betwixt,
(You can infer the right meaning by means of context),
An outcast was he, both in work and play,
He drove all his potential comradres away,
For "knowledge is power and power is tender",
and money brought friends of the opposite gender,
So he persisted in learning despite all the strife,
And forfeit the pleasures of humanly life,
His motto: "Good things come to those who wait,"
(Though doubtful I am that he'll find his soul mate).
None that was wiser could be found in the land,
So a pity his lover would be his right hand.
A halo fixed upon her head,
Like daylight's sun did shine abright,
And set aflame the ashen night,
Quite short and stout was she in size,
Her holy mouth had told not lies,
She loved God's creatures, short and tall,
Though fatty creatures most of all,
Did she adore with unfound zeal,
And watched them run inside a wheel,
She knew the sacred text by heart.
And readily did she impart,
Her knowledge in a grand display,
(Though little, in truth, did she have to say),
For vast her knoweldge of Bible passage,
I could not find a single message.
A thin young LASS with us did tread,
With short black hair upon her head,
A tiny jacket upon her breast,
All in all she was well dressed,
She often spoke with biting wit,
A clever girl I must admit,
Though quick her tongue and mind may be,
She'd sooner talk than bend a knee,
For duties she would often shirk,
And rarely did I see her work,
If a word could name vocation,
Hers would be Procrastination.
And was a SYCOPHANT of lowly rank,
A kind young fellow to be quite frank,
A man whose hand he would extend,
If one would pledge to be his friend,
His house had been a prison cell,
Of which he likened to the depths of hell,
With conditions not fit for even beasts,
(Though he never mentioned his daily feasts),
His parents were to him a curse,
He evoked our pity to fill his purse,
He had sunglasses on his nose,
And expensive shoes beneath his toes,
(How he afforded, nobody knows,
He'd got them as donations I suppose),
And dressed in his marvellous regale,
He repeated again his tragic tale:
And through his stories he gained acclaim,
Though sadder still none know his name.
And in this group there was a GIRL,
With glistening eyes and mouth of pearl,
Her personality I'll not forget,
She showed her kindness to all she met,
(She went so far as to humor the NERD.
-- Her voice like that of a singing bird),
Her dress adorned with florid design,
Protected her from all malign,
Though in her sleeve she hid a blade,
And often stayed behind the parade,
For underneath her kind complexion,
Was a soul devoid of affection,
And though the company she enjoyed,
She was always quite paranoid,
A jilted love left her in pain,
And ensured she never trust again,
So when she travelled she wore a smile,
And with beauty she would beguile,
For the ends would justify the means,
(and trickery was in her genes),
With rhetoric and skillful speak,
She tricked her way up to the peak,
So no one would ever dare surmise,
That she had built her life on lies,
(And sadly though as hard she tries,
I myself see through her disquise)
A NERD there was, alone in sitting,
Whose appearance of a nerd befitting,
His glasses hid his slit-like eyes,
A blameless man, no faults or lies,
His face, a scholary display,
(He refused underwear, they say),
His pants were tight, and his clothing was neat,
His nose raised quite slightly (as per the elite),
His shoes were well shined (though his feet were quiet stiff),
He walked with a manner that would make you wonder if,
He had to compensate for a missing betwixt,
(You can infer the right meaning by means of context),
An outcast was he, both in work and play,
He drove all his potential comradres away,
For "knowledge is power and power is tender",
and money brought friends of the opposite gender,
So he persisted in learning despite all the strife,
And forfeit the pleasures of humanly life,
His motto: "Good things come to those who wait,"
(Though doubtful I am that he'll find his soul mate).
None that was wiser could be found in the land,
So a pity his lover would be his right hand.
Arthur Lee on 7:07 pm 0 comments
Jamba Juice
You know what I hate about Jamba Juice? It's the freshness. You know, when you're sucking through a straw and all of a sudden it gets clogged, so you draw out your straw and you've got a big piece of fruit hanging on it. I bet you it's not even real. I bet you they make the drink, and then they toss in pieces of fruit, just to annoy you. Just because they know you'll be sucking on that straw, trying to suck that 1 x 1 x 1 inch piece of fruit through a centimeter wide straw.
Arthur Lee on 11:54 am 0 comments
Monday,April 26th, 2004
Kids are morons.
It's funny how little kids always want to worst jobs.
I mean seriously, astronaut? President? Fuck that!
I'm gonna be a cowboy.
I mean seriously, astronaut? President? Fuck that!
I'm gonna be a cowboy.
Arthur Lee on 6:56 pm 0 comments
Saturday,April 24th, 2004
A Lesson Hard Learned.
If Scooby Doo's taught me one thing, it's to never make friends because they always end up being villains.
Arthur Lee on 8:24 pm 0 comments
Friday,April 23rd, 2004
You can tell I'm bored.
I'm writing a story right now that was based on an idea I had for a game which I had after I saw Reservoir Dogs. The result? A highly derivative piece of literature(?). At any rate, click the 'Read more' link to read the first chapter.
Read More ...
Arthur Lee on 8:22 pm 0 comments
Thursday,April 22nd, 2004
Now, now, everyone's my friend -- just to various, much lesser degrees.
Arthur Lee on 7:44 pm 0 comments
After a long haitus.
Arthur Lee on 4:02 pm 0 comments
Saturday,April 17th, 2004
SFDR2 Update
Comments welcome
Arthur Lee on 11:10 pm 0 comments
Wilfred Muzak
I've debuted (Day-BYOOed, not debooted) three (3) Wilfred Makes a Friend songs.
Click here for the goods.
Saw Kill Bill 2 (more on that later)
Click here for the goods.
Saw Kill Bill 2 (more on that later)
Arthur Lee on 5:38 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,April 13th, 2004
SFDR2
My brainchild. In progress.
Arthur Lee on 8:21 pm 0 comments
Monday,April 12th, 2004
Bitchity bitch
I guess it goes without saying that Wilfred's been updated.
On the subject of people I hate, one thing that pisses me off to no end is circumlocution. No, I'm not talking about cutting off the foreskin of your penis.
It's just really pathetic, in my opinion, when you have something to say to someone but instead of just saying it, you mask it in ambiguity. I'm talking about all those blog and xanga posts about "people." You know, like "Don't you just hate it when people don't know when to shut up?"
I mean if it means so much to you, why don't you just say it and get the point across instead of having it fall on deaf ears. Maybe then you won't be upset that nobody understands a damned thing you're talking about.
You thought you had me, didn't you? You thought you were clever realizing the irony of my post. But no, what kind of man would I be if I didn't follow my own teachings? So I'll say it bluntly: Abra, stop trying too hard not to offend anybody and for God's sake stop hiding behind that silly blog of yours.
On the subject of people I hate, one thing that pisses me off to no end is circumlocution. No, I'm not talking about cutting off the foreskin of your penis.
It's just really pathetic, in my opinion, when you have something to say to someone but instead of just saying it, you mask it in ambiguity. I'm talking about all those blog and xanga posts about "people." You know, like "Don't you just hate it when people don't know when to shut up?"
I mean if it means so much to you, why don't you just say it and get the point across instead of having it fall on deaf ears. Maybe then you won't be upset that nobody understands a damned thing you're talking about.
You thought you had me, didn't you? You thought you were clever realizing the irony of my post. But no, what kind of man would I be if I didn't follow my own teachings? So I'll say it bluntly: Abra, stop trying too hard not to offend anybody and for God's sake stop hiding behind that silly blog of yours.
Arthur Lee on 4:18 pm 0 comments
Thursday,April 08th, 2004
More Wilfred.
Arthur Lee on 6:47 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,April 06th, 2004
Stroketastic.
This weekend was nothing short of amazing. I've got two words for you: The Strokesarefuckingamazing.
So here's the deal. Me and a group of four friends were going to see the Strokes on April 2nd. Everything was jive: we got the tickets and everyone was a-ok. Then people started to cop out, and basically we were left with four tickets, with only two people that wanted to go.
So we decided to sell the tickets. We sold our best ticket (down in the lower orchestra) for about 45 bucks, meaning we got an entire fiddy cent profit from it. Fifty cents'll buy you maybe half a bag of Cheetos, and I'm talking about those small bags. Anyways, so we sold one ticket and were left with three seats (They weren't spectacular, but two of them were pretty good).
We spent a month trying to find someone else that wanted to come see the Strokes with us, but to no avail. So we considered putting the tickets up for auction. That is, until we saw how poorly the tickets were doing on such popular auction outlets as eBay. That's when we decided at the last minute that maybe we could just go so as not to waste our tickets.
And my oh my crapping Christ am I glad that nobody wanted to buy our tickets. The show was WEFJI)WECWECMKWEFWEIFJE (That's random-key-pressing for 'AMAZGISDNSDGINSDG'). I don't really feel like getting into the specifics, but I can honestly say it was one of the most memorable experiences of my life.
As for today. Today I tried to go to sleep. Tried being the operative word, because there were some skating morons outside. I mean for fuck's sake it was fucking 12 in the morning and some morons were outside skating. I fucking hate skaters.
Anyways, these skaters were yelling loudly and making a big racket with their boards, so I decided enough was enough.
And you know me, I'm THE badass.
I went outside in my MANLY Pink Strokes T-Shirt and I told them to shut the fuck up before I fed them a knuckle sandwich. Okay so I lied about the sandwich, but whatever. For a moment I felt like an action hero diving off the ledge of a sixteen story building while simulatenously slicing masked bandits.
But I knew better than to go directly back home. I walked a bit outside, because I didn't want the skaters to know where I lived (Hey, a man's gotta avoid being egged, right?). Lo and behold here come the morons in a car, barreling (rhymes with Carol [inside joke]) down the street with the horns blaring screaming "EAT DICK, EAT DICK, EAT DICK." Skaters are fucking morons.
Anyways, I've started a new internet cartoon called Wilfred makes a friend. It's basically my little gift to all the assholes I've ever met in my life (and some people that aren't). If you'd like a part in one of my cartoons, just give me a holla and I'll see how I can defame your name.
WILFRED MAKES A FRIEND.
So here's the deal. Me and a group of four friends were going to see the Strokes on April 2nd. Everything was jive: we got the tickets and everyone was a-ok. Then people started to cop out, and basically we were left with four tickets, with only two people that wanted to go.
So we decided to sell the tickets. We sold our best ticket (down in the lower orchestra) for about 45 bucks, meaning we got an entire fiddy cent profit from it. Fifty cents'll buy you maybe half a bag of Cheetos, and I'm talking about those small bags. Anyways, so we sold one ticket and were left with three seats (They weren't spectacular, but two of them were pretty good).
We spent a month trying to find someone else that wanted to come see the Strokes with us, but to no avail. So we considered putting the tickets up for auction. That is, until we saw how poorly the tickets were doing on such popular auction outlets as eBay. That's when we decided at the last minute that maybe we could just go so as not to waste our tickets.
And my oh my crapping Christ am I glad that nobody wanted to buy our tickets. The show was WEFJI)WECWECMKWEFWEIFJE (That's random-key-pressing for 'AMAZGISDNSDGINSDG'). I don't really feel like getting into the specifics, but I can honestly say it was one of the most memorable experiences of my life.
As for today. Today I tried to go to sleep. Tried being the operative word, because there were some skating morons outside. I mean for fuck's sake it was fucking 12 in the morning and some morons were outside skating. I fucking hate skaters.
Anyways, these skaters were yelling loudly and making a big racket with their boards, so I decided enough was enough.
And you know me, I'm THE badass.
I went outside in my MANLY Pink Strokes T-Shirt and I told them to shut the fuck up before I fed them a knuckle sandwich. Okay so I lied about the sandwich, but whatever. For a moment I felt like an action hero diving off the ledge of a sixteen story building while simulatenously slicing masked bandits.
But I knew better than to go directly back home. I walked a bit outside, because I didn't want the skaters to know where I lived (Hey, a man's gotta avoid being egged, right?). Lo and behold here come the morons in a car, barreling (rhymes with Carol [inside joke]) down the street with the horns blaring screaming "EAT DICK, EAT DICK, EAT DICK." Skaters are fucking morons.
Anyways, I've started a new internet cartoon called Wilfred makes a friend. It's basically my little gift to all the assholes I've ever met in my life (and some people that aren't). If you'd like a part in one of my cartoons, just give me a holla and I'll see how I can defame your name.
WILFRED MAKES A FRIEND.
Arthur Lee on 9:46 am 0 comments
Friday,March 19th, 2004
Faculty Follies and Sticky ___
Faculty Follies is one of those things you like for the wrong reasons. I mean okay, it was funny, but the acting in it was really bad, and the sound system never seemed to be loud enough. The material itself is really bland, which is why normally you'd hate it, but seeing your teachers act it out and stuff is so... pathetic or out of the ordinary that it manages to make you laugh. I mean come on, I was sitting in the front row and Mr. Ives was doing the hand jive in his leather jacket. Classic.
As for the festivities that followed, it was good. To be honest though, I think it's getting harder to get closer with my friends because there're so many people now that it's kind of hard to feel comfortable talking to just one or two people. And for some reason, it kind of feels like our old group's been... polluted(?). Maybe that's not the right word, but it still conveys what I think about it. I just wish it'd be back to how it was like last year, with our motley group of five. Or maybe it's just I'm just not too compatible with change. At any rate, I've been getting some bad vibes.
Anyways, we went to Starbucks. I ordered a caramel frappy under the manly name "Jackhammer." But the incompetent girl behind the counter spelled it Jack Abner. It was funny though, when she asked me my name I said "Jackhammer" and she was like "Jack?" And I repeated "Jackhammer." I actually sort of held a straight face too. Oh the coffee was good.
Then we went to Del Taco and just... talked? It wasn't really talking as it was filler-conversation -- nothing really of worth was said.
Afterwards, we headed to Albertsons, where we took a lap around the goods and left. Nothing terribly interesting there either.
After that, we all headed home after a long day of... well... nothing.
As for the festivities that followed, it was good. To be honest though, I think it's getting harder to get closer with my friends because there're so many people now that it's kind of hard to feel comfortable talking to just one or two people. And for some reason, it kind of feels like our old group's been... polluted(?). Maybe that's not the right word, but it still conveys what I think about it. I just wish it'd be back to how it was like last year, with our motley group of five. Or maybe it's just I'm just not too compatible with change. At any rate, I've been getting some bad vibes.
Anyways, we went to Starbucks. I ordered a caramel frappy under the manly name "Jackhammer." But the incompetent girl behind the counter spelled it Jack Abner. It was funny though, when she asked me my name I said "Jackhammer" and she was like "Jack?" And I repeated "Jackhammer." I actually sort of held a straight face too. Oh the coffee was good.
Then we went to Del Taco and just... talked? It wasn't really talking as it was filler-conversation -- nothing really of worth was said.
Afterwards, we headed to Albertsons, where we took a lap around the goods and left. Nothing terribly interesting there either.
After that, we all headed home after a long day of... well... nothing.
Arthur Lee on 7:43 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,March 09th, 2004
Gus Gus
My friend told me I look like Gus Gus from Cinderella. She assured me it was a good thing.
I'm not sure which part was supposed to be the good part, the fact that I'm a dirty rodent or that I'm a fatass?
I'm not sure which part was supposed to be the good part, the fact that I'm a dirty rodent or that I'm a fatass?
Arthur Lee on 6:41 pm 0 comments
Thursday,March 04th, 2004
A Step by Step Guide To...
HIT ON YOUR CLASSMATES
A guide by Arthur H. Lee
COMPUTER SCIENCE
"public Affection giveLove(){"
ENGLISH
"Hey babe, let's make an iambic pentameter. BUM buh BUM bum BUM..."
"Let me introduce you to the finer parts of oral tradition."
"Now, the rising action. Later, the climax."
"Repeat after me,'One two three'. We rhyme, guess that makes us a couplet."
"I'm sure you'll learn to appreciate every meter of my diction."
CHEMISTRY
"I've never been too good at chemistry, but I've always had a positive ion you..."
"Hey, sexy, what's produced by Iodine and Uranium? I + U = Love, baby."
"Let me demonstrate how increased pleasure-- I mean, pressure yields increased temperature."
PRE-CALCULUS
"Let me show you my power-function..."
"How about you and me make a one to one correlation."
"What's the square root of negative one fourty four B plus U? Oh wait... i 1 2 B with U.
"Excuse me for going off on a tangent, but I do believe you were sending me sines."
"Here's my order of operations, first I subtract your clothes, and then we multiply."
Disclaimer: I cannot be held accountable if these do not work in Computer Science. And even if they do, I cannot be held accountable for the geekiness of the girl you have just wooed. Thank you.
A guide by Arthur H. Lee
COMPUTER SCIENCE
"public Affection giveLove(){"
ENGLISH
"Hey babe, let's make an iambic pentameter. BUM buh BUM bum BUM..."
"Let me introduce you to the finer parts of oral tradition."
"Now, the rising action. Later, the climax."
"Repeat after me,'One two three'. We rhyme, guess that makes us a couplet."
"I'm sure you'll learn to appreciate every meter of my diction."
CHEMISTRY
"I've never been too good at chemistry, but I've always had a positive ion you..."
"Hey, sexy, what's produced by Iodine and Uranium? I + U = Love, baby."
"Let me demonstrate how increased pleasure-- I mean, pressure yields increased temperature."
PRE-CALCULUS
"Let me show you my power-function..."
"How about you and me make a one to one correlation."
"What's the square root of negative one fourty four B plus U? Oh wait... i 1 2 B with U.
"Excuse me for going off on a tangent, but I do believe you were sending me sines."
"Here's my order of operations, first I subtract your clothes, and then we multiply."
Disclaimer: I cannot be held accountable if these do not work in Computer Science. And even if they do, I cannot be held accountable for the geekiness of the girl you have just wooed. Thank you.
Arthur Lee on 5:14 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,March 02nd, 2004
Back
Sorry guys, I exceeded my bandwidth usage last month, which accounts for why the site was 'down.' Well... It's back up again. More later, I'm tired.
Arthur Lee on 9:17 pm 0 comments
Thursday,February 19th, 2004
A Slightly Less Serious Rant
Ever have one of those days when it feels like somewhere up there (up 'there', you know?) God is laughing His holy ass off watch you clumsily stumble through life? For me, that day is today.
It starts off, oddly enough, at 12:00 at midnight. I'm about to pack my recently fixed digital camera for school when lo and behold, it stops working again. So I'm playing around with it, hoping to fix it and the entire lens comes off. Two little metal screws the size of fleas fall on my desk (God knows where from). I see the inside of the camera is covered in sand. Not only that but the little spring keeping the thing together slips loose, ricochets off the walls and lands somewhere on my desk. Flash forward 15 minutes searching for the spring (Which is fucking tiny might I add), I finally find it behind my monitor. So I try to put it back in. Problem is I never saw how the spring was supposed to be attached. So I try to figure out way to attach it and I end up wearing out the spring. Fantastic. Time to cut my losses and try to put everything back together. Problem: Lens cap won't fit. Solution (Or lack thereof): Force it in. Result: No dice + even more broken camera. No matter how I angled it, turned it, pushed it, blah blah, it wouldn't fit. I think it's gone for good. 400 dollar camera KFSDFIWEFKWOIFWKEFKWEFIOWEKOFMIWEOCMWEc#RKOFSDFK
But the fun doesn't stop there -- I realize I don't have my blue binder (only my green one), which wouldn't be a problem, except that some of my newer papers were in the blue binder, such as my notes for Euro (which I have a test on tomorrow, might I add). Rather than take chances tomorrow, I decide to print out new copies. Then my [new] printer decides to be an asshole. The automatic paper feeder sucks in the entire stack of papers, fans them out, and proceeds to carefully print along the top margins of all the papers. FJEWEIMCCCCCWEII(WEAWIDOA
Hahaha, and as a final blow to my dignity, after I finish printing out all of the paper, my stapler jams.
@%#RKODFSFPOWEKFEPOFKWF>SECFWEKFOWE)FKWEI(FJWEWFIWEJFOWIFJ ahem.
It starts off, oddly enough, at 12:00 at midnight. I'm about to pack my recently fixed digital camera for school when lo and behold, it stops working again. So I'm playing around with it, hoping to fix it and the entire lens comes off. Two little metal screws the size of fleas fall on my desk (God knows where from). I see the inside of the camera is covered in sand. Not only that but the little spring keeping the thing together slips loose, ricochets off the walls and lands somewhere on my desk. Flash forward 15 minutes searching for the spring (Which is fucking tiny might I add), I finally find it behind my monitor. So I try to put it back in. Problem is I never saw how the spring was supposed to be attached. So I try to figure out way to attach it and I end up wearing out the spring. Fantastic. Time to cut my losses and try to put everything back together. Problem: Lens cap won't fit. Solution (Or lack thereof): Force it in. Result: No dice + even more broken camera. No matter how I angled it, turned it, pushed it, blah blah, it wouldn't fit. I think it's gone for good. 400 dollar camera KFSDFIWEFKWOIFWKEFKWEFIOWEKOFMIWEOCMWEc#RKOFSDFK
But the fun doesn't stop there -- I realize I don't have my blue binder (only my green one), which wouldn't be a problem, except that some of my newer papers were in the blue binder, such as my notes for Euro (which I have a test on tomorrow, might I add). Rather than take chances tomorrow, I decide to print out new copies. Then my [new] printer decides to be an asshole. The automatic paper feeder sucks in the entire stack of papers, fans them out, and proceeds to carefully print along the top margins of all the papers. FJEWEIMCCCCCWEII(WEAWIDOA
Hahaha, and as a final blow to my dignity, after I finish printing out all of the paper, my stapler jams.
@%#RKODFSFPOWEKFEPOFKWF>SECFWEKFOWE)FKWEI(FJWEWFIWEJFOWIFJ ahem.
Arthur Lee on 7:20 pm 0 comments
Sunday,February 15th, 2004
I
I'll cut to the chase, I'm literally crying right now. I never cry, not even when I'm hurt, but when it feels like the cards are stacked against me, I cry. And it's not just tears, it's me breaking down emotionally, I start crying in uncontrollable bursts. It's a rather pathetic image, a full grown boy, sitting up in bed at dawn, crying in the dark with nobody around to see. Pathetic, that's just right. Pathetic would describe me right now.
What have I done to myself? I've created a world without hope. What I like to call the gritty, ultra-realistic world where possiblity is impossible.
Hope is all I've had in my life. Not good looks. Not a great mind. Just hope. Hopes that one day people would look past my looks and see the great person underneath. Hopes of a society in which people are judged by the way they act and not the way they dress. And to be honest, for awhile I believed it. I could do it -- my personality would build a foundation upon which I could have a relationship with someone special. Yeah, it's true! I believed I could do it. Then reality came knocking on my door and it hit me: What a load of shit.
You know what I am? I'm the personification of disappointment. Time after time after time, I build it all up, my hopes, my expectations, my relationships with these people. Then what happens? I get it all taken away by some fucking prettyboy. And what's worse, it's taken away by a prettyboy in a fraction of the time and experiences I had to get to truly know these people. I feel like the old discarded furniture in the IKEA commercials. You know, the one that those European fucks tell you not to care about (It's only furniture!). That's me, replaced by something that looks better. Who gives a shit about the old piece of junk?
And it's not happened just once. Not twice either. Hell, not even just three times. It's happened enough times to completely eliminate any faith I had left in the human race.
So what did I do? I gave myself hope one more time, and I got to know
a person. And I really grew attached to this person. She kept my perspective on life up -- always reminding me how important personality was. And it gave me happiness and hope. Here was a beautiful person telling me about how even worthless craps like me could become something beautiful in the eyes of someone else. Then of course comes the prettyboy and a bullet in the head to all of my hope. Within a week I found myself bumped to second place.
Now I hope you can understand why life sucks being so average. It's like a retarded kid without arms trying to grab onto a ledge. No matter how strong his legs are, or how smart or clever he is, he will always be limited by his inherent lack of arms, and no matter how hard he tries, he'll never ever be able to grab onto that ledge and pull himself up.
Now please don't dismiss this as a cry for pity. I don't want your pity. Pity's all I get from anyone anyways. "Oh don't worry, Arthur, there's someone out there for you." Anything to make me feel better. But is it always true?
Consider it -- when you give me hope, do you really mean it? Do you really think it's possible? Or are you saying that to calm me down? Are your saying that to give me a temporary morale boost, only to have it all crashing down on me later.
So what've I decided? Absolutely nothing. I'll probably fall for the same trap again. A year from now I'll find myself in this same bed, cryng at the same exact thing, thinking the same exact thoughts. And do you know why? It's because no matter how hard I condition myself, and tell myself that this world is better than this, that people are more deep than that -- no matter how much hope I have, it isn't going to change a fucking thing. The world will continue to exist and ignorance, and I'll continue to live in perpetual misery.
What have I done to myself? I've created a world without hope. What I like to call the gritty, ultra-realistic world where possiblity is impossible.
Hope is all I've had in my life. Not good looks. Not a great mind. Just hope. Hopes that one day people would look past my looks and see the great person underneath. Hopes of a society in which people are judged by the way they act and not the way they dress. And to be honest, for awhile I believed it. I could do it -- my personality would build a foundation upon which I could have a relationship with someone special. Yeah, it's true! I believed I could do it. Then reality came knocking on my door and it hit me: What a load of shit.
You know what I am? I'm the personification of disappointment. Time after time after time, I build it all up, my hopes, my expectations, my relationships with these people. Then what happens? I get it all taken away by some fucking prettyboy. And what's worse, it's taken away by a prettyboy in a fraction of the time and experiences I had to get to truly know these people. I feel like the old discarded furniture in the IKEA commercials. You know, the one that those European fucks tell you not to care about (It's only furniture!). That's me, replaced by something that looks better. Who gives a shit about the old piece of junk?
And it's not happened just once. Not twice either. Hell, not even just three times. It's happened enough times to completely eliminate any faith I had left in the human race.
So what did I do? I gave myself hope one more time, and I got to know
a person. And I really grew attached to this person. She kept my perspective on life up -- always reminding me how important personality was. And it gave me happiness and hope. Here was a beautiful person telling me about how even worthless craps like me could become something beautiful in the eyes of someone else. Then of course comes the prettyboy and a bullet in the head to all of my hope. Within a week I found myself bumped to second place.
Now I hope you can understand why life sucks being so average. It's like a retarded kid without arms trying to grab onto a ledge. No matter how strong his legs are, or how smart or clever he is, he will always be limited by his inherent lack of arms, and no matter how hard he tries, he'll never ever be able to grab onto that ledge and pull himself up.
Now please don't dismiss this as a cry for pity. I don't want your pity. Pity's all I get from anyone anyways. "Oh don't worry, Arthur, there's someone out there for you." Anything to make me feel better. But is it always true?
Consider it -- when you give me hope, do you really mean it? Do you really think it's possible? Or are you saying that to calm me down? Are your saying that to give me a temporary morale boost, only to have it all crashing down on me later.
So what've I decided? Absolutely nothing. I'll probably fall for the same trap again. A year from now I'll find myself in this same bed, cryng at the same exact thing, thinking the same exact thoughts. And do you know why? It's because no matter how hard I condition myself, and tell myself that this world is better than this, that people are more deep than that -- no matter how much hope I have, it isn't going to change a fucking thing. The world will continue to exist and ignorance, and I'll continue to live in perpetual misery.
Arthur Lee on 8:13 pm 0 comments
Thursday,February 12th, 2004
The little things in life
TODAY I SORT OF FIXED MY CAMERA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!oneoneoneoneoneone
It turns on when it's right side up now! The only other problem I have now is that the lens makes a disgusting grinding sound whenever I turn it on. BUT IT WORKS NOW AND SO I CAN CONTINUE STALKING MY FRIENDS!!!
...
...
*cough*
Why the title? Turns out the only reason it was 'broken' was because a little piece of sand jammed the springs on one of the battery holders... All I had to do was hit it with a bent paperclip. Fuck easy answers.
It turns on when it's right side up now! The only other problem I have now is that the lens makes a disgusting grinding sound whenever I turn it on. BUT IT WORKS NOW AND SO I CAN CONTINUE STALKING MY FRIENDS!!!
...
...
*cough*
Why the title? Turns out the only reason it was 'broken' was because a little piece of sand jammed the springs on one of the battery holders... All I had to do was hit it with a bent paperclip. Fuck easy answers.
Arthur Lee on 4:19 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,February 10th, 2004
The Universe explained by me
Arthur's Law
Ugly people are restricted to dating other ugly people.
The Good Looking Exclusion Principle
Good looking people exclusively go out with other good looking people.
The Optimist Law
Anybody who claims to value personality over looks is ugly.
The Pessimist Law
Anybody good looking who claims to value personality over looks is lying.
The Bachelor Law
Anybody ugly who claims to value looks over personality will remain single.
The Compensation Theory
Anyone who is ugly has a good personality.
The Compensation Anti-Theory
Anyone who is good looking has a terribly personality.
Evolution Law
An ugly person cannot become good looking.
Devolution Law
A good looking person can become ugly.
The Yuri Law
Anybody half Asian and half Caucasian is good looking.
The Double Negative Law
Anybody with two ugly parents is good looking.
The Ugly Duckling Rule
Anybody with two good looking parents is ugly.
Inverse Law
As looks increase, brain matter decreases.
Ugly people are restricted to dating other ugly people.
The Good Looking Exclusion Principle
Good looking people exclusively go out with other good looking people.
The Optimist Law
Anybody who claims to value personality over looks is ugly.
The Pessimist Law
Anybody good looking who claims to value personality over looks is lying.
The Bachelor Law
Anybody ugly who claims to value looks over personality will remain single.
The Compensation Theory
Anyone who is ugly has a good personality.
The Compensation Anti-Theory
Anyone who is good looking has a terribly personality.
Evolution Law
An ugly person cannot become good looking.
Devolution Law
A good looking person can become ugly.
The Yuri Law
Anybody half Asian and half Caucasian is good looking.
The Double Negative Law
Anybody with two ugly parents is good looking.
The Ugly Duckling Rule
Anybody with two good looking parents is ugly.
Inverse Law
As looks increase, brain matter decreases.
Arthur Lee on 7:24 pm 0 comments
Blogs are stupid (And I'm a hippo-crite)
Anyone else realize that Blogs aren't worth very much aside from being a place for you to "inadvertently" make fun of someone or to force someone to feel sorry for you, or to show off how interesting your week was.
Nothing beats an old fashioned, offline, private journal, kids. Remember that. In the meantime, Winston is an awful kid. Whoops, I did that inadvertently (and completely randomly, might I add). Bye.
Nothing beats an old fashioned, offline, private journal, kids. Remember that. In the meantime, Winston is an awful kid. Whoops, I did that inadvertently (and completely randomly, might I add). Bye.
Arthur Lee on 7:05 pm 0 comments
Saturday,February 07th, 2004
Interesting flash adventure.
Emily sent me a link to a very interesting flash adventure game.
It took me about 15 minutes to finish but it was really interesting from start to finish. Maybe I'm just a sucker for these kinds of adventure games where you don't really know what you're trying to accomplish, but you strangely know what you're doing.
Anyways, the link:
http://www.freshsensation.com/samorost.swf
It took me about 15 minutes to finish but it was really interesting from start to finish. Maybe I'm just a sucker for these kinds of adventure games where you don't really know what you're trying to accomplish, but you strangely know what you're doing.
Anyways, the link:
http://www.freshsensation.com/samorost.swf
Arthur Lee on 4:41 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,February 03rd, 2004
Music
Have you ever realized the power of music?
The way it can completely engulf you in your own world. How it can move you -- make you cry or smile. How so often it knows exactly what you're feeling. How it can remind you of things in the past, or foreshadow the future. Music is like the understanding friend who knows exactly how to relate with you even when nobody else does. Music is also the friend you hang around with when you just want to chill out and have fun. Music is amazing in that it is just simply music, but at the same time it's so very profound.
Yeah, just a random thought.
The way it can completely engulf you in your own world. How it can move you -- make you cry or smile. How so often it knows exactly what you're feeling. How it can remind you of things in the past, or foreshadow the future. Music is like the understanding friend who knows exactly how to relate with you even when nobody else does. Music is also the friend you hang around with when you just want to chill out and have fun. Music is amazing in that it is just simply music, but at the same time it's so very profound.
Yeah, just a random thought.
Arthur Lee on 6:50 pm 0 comments
Monday,February 02nd, 2004
The problem with being nice
I think there's a real problem with being nice. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying go outside and take a shit on your neighbor's front lawn. I'm talking about the super sugary mega sweetened kind of nice. The kind of nice that's disturbingly nice, as if they're being overly nice to compensate for some dark secret (Like the severed limbs of a spouse under the 3rd floorboard from the right wall).
At first I used to appreciate them. Super nice people are... well... nice. They're always there for you, giving you suport when you need it. Being a bright light in a dark, gritty world. They don't really ask for much either, just a friendly wave or "hi" every now and then.
But as I grew older (and admittedly, more cynical), I began to realize how sad it must be for these super nice people. These people who saturate their friends in friendliness, that it becomes an impossiblity for someone special to realize he or she is getting any preferrential treatment. And at the other end of the spectrum, are held in such friendly terms that any hostile act would completely shatter their reputation.
In my opinion, these kinds of nice people are just like sugar, they give you a quick friendship, but like a sugar high, it all fades away just as quickly as it began.
At first I used to appreciate them. Super nice people are... well... nice. They're always there for you, giving you suport when you need it. Being a bright light in a dark, gritty world. They don't really ask for much either, just a friendly wave or "hi" every now and then.
But as I grew older (and admittedly, more cynical), I began to realize how sad it must be for these super nice people. These people who saturate their friends in friendliness, that it becomes an impossiblity for someone special to realize he or she is getting any preferrential treatment. And at the other end of the spectrum, are held in such friendly terms that any hostile act would completely shatter their reputation.
In my opinion, these kinds of nice people are just like sugar, they give you a quick friendship, but like a sugar high, it all fades away just as quickly as it began.
Arthur Lee on 5:24 pm 0 comments
Rain
Rain is the best. Yeah, I wanted to write an entire entree just to say that.
Arthur Lee on 3:34 pm 0 comments
Sunday,February 01st, 2004
Me, the coward
Have you ever told someone something? You know "promise to God never to tell anyone."
Yeah, your lips say it, but we all know that feeling. You know it and they know it:
As soon as you leave that room, you can consider the entire world informed.
It's just human nature, of course. A secret is like a little black monkey, clutched onto your back, whispering in your ear "Tell them. They wants to know. They NEEDS to know."
And sure enough, monkey wins. Cat's outta the bag folks.
What's this got to do with the title of the post?
The fact that I perpetuate it. And all just because I'm too chicken to say something myself.
Me, the coward.
Yeah, your lips say it, but we all know that feeling. You know it and they know it:
As soon as you leave that room, you can consider the entire world informed.
It's just human nature, of course. A secret is like a little black monkey, clutched onto your back, whispering in your ear "Tell them. They wants to know. They NEEDS to know."
And sure enough, monkey wins. Cat's outta the bag folks.
What's this got to do with the title of the post?
The fact that I perpetuate it. And all just because I'm too chicken to say something myself.
Me, the coward.
Arthur Lee on 8:17 pm 0 comments
I'm bored.
Arthur Lee on 8:25 am 0 comments
Saturday,January 31st, 2004
Going solo
Super Fun Dungeon Run'll be back to just me.
Why?
I don't know, the thought of a group journal just seemed kind of pointless, you know? It's hard to open up when you have people watching -- kind of like how it's hard to piss in the bushes when there are people around.
So that's that.
Why?
I don't know, the thought of a group journal just seemed kind of pointless, you know? It's hard to open up when you have people watching -- kind of like how it's hard to piss in the bushes when there are people around.
So that's that.
Read More ...
Arthur Lee on 5:03 pm 0 comments