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 2:59 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 5:00 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 4:14 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 5:17 pm 0 comments
Monday,October 31st, 2005
Master Lee: Volume V
Arthur Lee on 8:09 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 1:11 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 2:16 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 3:24 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 3:14 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 3:48 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 3:13 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 3:58 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 4:46 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 4:02 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 4:18 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 2:01 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 2:11 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 3:34 am 0 comments
Saturday,June 25th, 2005
Prepare for trouble.
Arthur Lee on 3:01 pm 0 comments
Friday,June 17th, 2005
!
Arthur Lee on 4:41 pm 0 comments
Thursday,June 09th, 2005
D.
Arthur Lee on 7:59 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 7:42 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,June 07th, 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 12:10 am 0 comments
Wednesday,June 01st, 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 12:57 am 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 5:39 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 1:30 am 0 comments
Tuesday,May 17th, 2005
What the?
Little girls, go away because now it's statutory rape.
Arthur Lee on 12:10 am 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 2:54 am 0 comments
Wednesday,May 04th, 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 12:10 am 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 1:10 am 0 comments
Sunday,April 24th, 2005
New song?
Arthur Lee on 8:59 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 10:14 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 10:04 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 11:30 pm 0 comments
Sunday,April 10th, 2005
Master Lee: Volume IV
Arthur Lee on 11:33 pm 0 comments
Friday,April 08th, 2005
Master Lee: Volume III
Arthur Lee on 11:53 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 9:27 pm 0 comments
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 12:50 am 0 comments
Thursday,March 24th, 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 12:38 am 0 comments
Tuesday,March 22nd, 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 12:58 am 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 1:10 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 11:37 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 3:03 am 0 comments
Monday,March 07th, 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 12:54 am 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 2:33 am 0 comments
Sunday,February 27th, 2005
WHAT?!
Arthur Lee on 4:13 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 2:39 am 0 comments
Wednesday,January 12th, 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 12:14 am 0 comments
Tuesday,January 11th, 2005
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 7:48 pm 0 comments
Monday,January 10th, 2005
Wilfred
Arthur Lee on 8:06 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 7:25 pm 0 comments
Moved.
Word.
Arthur Lee on 11:17 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 8:45 pm 0 comments
WOWOW.
That's my friend's cousin, who's my friend too. WOWOW.
Arthur Lee on 8:00 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 7:13 pm 0 comments
Friday,December 31st, 2004
2005
etc.
Arthur Lee on 8:07 pm 0 comments
Tuesday,December 28th, 2004
,,,
CINDY ARE YOU OKAY?!
Arthur Lee on 10:18 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 7:55 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 7:38 pm 0 comments