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[ Space Monkey kept me waiting for this update. I only got it about a minute before I uploaded it. I think I'm going to have to spank the monkey.
It's a funny thing. Fickle as well, if any of you are to judge by.
So the next rant then. Well.
Recently I've been sleeping. A lot. Last night I had weird dream about being cryogenically frozen and waking up 100 years later to meet people I knew and places I didn't, as well as the descendant of my friend. Which was scary. All I remember is he was ginger, fat and had a beard. My friend is none of these. Oh well.
You know what the biggest concern of this dream world was? Do you?
Apparently they were a flop. A huge flop. They were such a big flop that people were still talking about it almost a century down the line. Don't ask me why, they just were.
Now for the main part of this rant.
WTF is going on in my head?! Don't get me wrong, I think it was quite fun, but WTF? They say you only remember those parts of dreams that you actively take part in. If that's the case, then why the hell did it take me so long to realise that I was dreaming? (That's what woke me up this morning! EARLY this morning!)
Being a psychology student, I'm rather scared by dreams, or the "window onto the subconscious" as I've come to call them. Of course, if that's true, then what exactly is my subconscious trying to tell me? To help me, I took a quick look at my handy household quantum mechanics handbook. And I found this.
So I built it, and the results were as follows.
I'm still confused by that last one. I think I muddled up the wiring or something. Anyway, I fixed it and then got another readout, pretty similar, but with a slightly different ending.
Well, needless to say I'm not too sure about this, but I guess I'll let it pass. You guys continue about your business. Your task this week is to stop my killing spree or kill yourself trying. Enjoy.
I've been reading this great book on serial killers. About what makes the little scamps tick and how they gave themselves away. I came across this letter from Jack the Ripper:
"I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track... I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldnt you."
And it occurred to me that it bore a surprising resemblance to an e-mail from an AOL user.
On the same subject, this week my descent into madness continues with The Premeditated Murder Flowchart. Don't go getting any bright ideas, children.
I know the delightful Sugarpants dealt with this yesterday, but I really want to talk about it. Seems to me that renaming everything that starts with the name of a European country is yet another glorious American achievement in time-wasting.
So from now on, everything that starts with 'french' or 'german' is going to be renamed with 'freedom' or 'liberty'. So, I suppose we can expect to see freedom fries, toast, connections and ticklers. And what with talk of Tony Blair being made to stand down if he keeps ignoring the feelings of his people and the United Nations, it probably won't be long before American bakeries are selling Ingrate Muffins.
What is it that goes through their heads? "Y'all ain't done supported us in this war, so we're gonna stop naming things after y'all that y'all don't have anything to do with anyway." In what bizarre parallel dimension did you think that would make them change their minds? "Ooh! Your childish barbs have shown me the error of my ways! Please, have fifty thousand troops to die ignoble deaths in foreign climes in the name of your shitty cause!" America is gaining a reputation as a bunch of petty warmongering crybabies who stick their fingers in their ears and go 'la la la la' at the slightest opposition, and this isn't helping matters.
Maybe, America, just maybe, your displeasure is justified because of that whole World War thing. In that case, at least leave Germany alone; they don't owe you bugger all. As for everyone else, maybe you haven't noticed, but that war was SIXTY FLIPPING YEARS AGO. All that talk about how American soldiers died for France... I think they'd be dead already by now, and France was invaded and conquered by the Nazis long before you lot arrived anyway.
Are you going to keep bringing up this WW2 thing every time you want us to do something, America? The Second World War is something a lot of us would rather forget. To me, it seems that unquestioned support from France, the UK and a bunch of other European countries for the last century has paid back that particular debt.
Dubya should look at the facts. Europe has supported his country almost unquestioningly for the last century. If they suddenly turn against him and say "No, we don't think this war is a good idea," then maybe he should perhaps LISTEN to them instead of locking himself in the metaphorical bathroom to sulk. Surely he knows that Europe values the friendship with America's military strength. We're not stupid, guys! If we withdraw our support it must be for a very good reason!
Okay, let me calm down for a second. I try not to formulate an opinion on the war as I don't have all the relevant information. Let's steer this rant back to the original point; American food vendors changing the names of things that start with French to 'freedom' or 'liberty'.
This highlights another problem I have with the US: that they feel they have a monopoly over the concept of freedom. They call their homeland the 'land of the free' and call their president the 'leader of the free world'. Last time I checked I'm not locked up either, and I think I speak for quite a lot of other countries in the world.
Americans seem to think of themselves as the representatives of the human race, and to a lot of US citizens the word 'America' is synonymous with the word 'universe'. A responsible country would probably have stuck something like a United Nations flag on the moon, rather than an American one. It's this obsession with glory and disregard for everywhere else in the world that really steams my pwinklies and no mistake.
Dammit, I got off topic again. Er, yes, freedom fries. That's a fucking stupid name.
[The following update I received a week or two ago by an enigmatic gentleman by the name of Sugarpants. He assured me he isn't gay. Hey, Sugar, we're open-minded here, there's no need to be so coy.
Hey, an update about pants, then an update from someone named Pants. There's a thing.
In Beaufort, North Carolina, Neal Rowland, the owner of Cubbies restaurant, has changed the name of French fries to liberty fries in response to the French government being against the war on Iraq. Needless to say, the French government was shocked and astounded (sarcasm). And don't think the Germans weren't left alone for having the same viewpoint. Hamburger has been taken of his menu and replaced by the Cubbie Burger.
When asked where he got this idea, he said he was talking to a local history teacher about how many Germanic products had their names changed during WWI. Here are some examples.
-> liberty steak
Seriously, German measles was changed to Liberty Measles. Good word association. When I'm sick, I can be reminded of my freedom. But back to the story at hand. First of all, changing the names of popular products does not affect the country you're mad at. It has helped him out quite a bit though. Ever since he started selling Liberty Fries business has improved at Cubbies. Rednecks have come from far and near so that they can boycott a product originally invented in America. Secondly, when we changed the name of German food and diseases, we were at war with Germany. As far as I know, we're not at war with the French, we're not going to war with France, and France is not going to send troops to defend Iraq if that stupid resolution is passed.
What bothers me the most about this guy is that he knows some moronic piece of trivia about WWI yet doesn't seem to remember that France has joined our side in almost all major conflicts. Even when the Germans managed to take them over they still put up a resistance movement against them. They showed their friendship by giving us a humongous statue. So when they decide to not join us, it can only be because we're doing something really stupid. The same way your best friend refuses to tag along when you decide to break into a zoo and kill an endangered species or become blood brothers by slitting each other's wrists with a rusty butcher knife.
The idea is so insane that I think it needs to be rewarded. So I will now change the name of my asshole to Neal Rowland. Tomorrow I will send him a trophy in the shape of my hand holding up its Liberty Finger.
I acquired some Calvin Klein underpants last Christmas, and there was something about them that kind of bothered me. They're perfectly normal pants except for the weird elasticky wasteband which is unusually wide and emblazoned with Calvin Klein logos.
Of course I understand what it's for. Calvin Klein, as well as all the other big name brands all over the world, sometimes wake up suddenly in the night and shout "Holy shit! People pay me money for the privelege of going around advertising our company!" before bursting into fits of maniacal laughter and masturbating furiously with huge handfuls of paper money. And they're clever, these bastards. They advertise on your shirt, on your trousers, on your hat, on your rucksack, and on your skin if you buy their godawfully expensive deodorant. Now they want you to advertise them when you're only wearing pants.
Really pisses me off and no mistake. I'm very proud of the fact that the only item of clothing with a prominent logo which I regularly wear is my Fully Ramblomatic T-shirt, and if I can't wear that, who can? But then when my pants ride up and the wasteband appears on top of my belt, my commercialist shame is shown for all to see. Suddenly I'm not the pretentious anti-establishment poser I once was.
Putting a prominent logo on my pants, CK ... that's a new low. Altering the smell of your stupid artfully-named perfumes (or 'fragrances' as they apparently prefer to be called) and jacking up the price by fifty quid was low enough, but what now? It's not enough that your fashion victim customers are running around advertising you when they're fully dressed, now you want them to advertise you to their friends in the locker room, or to the person they are about to have sex with. And sorry to break this to you, but sheep don't buy clothing. Ha ha! I said fashion victims like to fuck sheep! I'm such a card!
So, in summary: fuck you, Calvin. And here's a special piece of humour, just for you:
SOME THINGS YOU CAN DO WITH CALVIN KLEIN PANTS
1. Put them on your head and ask everyone if they like your hat! This can be especially hilarious if you're a popular and trend-setting Hollywood celebrity!
2. Did you know that 'Klein' is the German word for 'small'? Simply black out the 'Calvin' bit, draw an arrow pointing to the crotch, and encourage a friend to strut about in them on a beach in Germany!
3. Cut them up into little squares and use them as incredibly stylish confetti at an extremely boring wedding!
4. Make the wasteband into a noose with which to hang your useless fucking shit self by the neck until you are dead!
5. Mount them on a little flagpole and march around with it while your friend beats a drum and another plays a pipe so you can re-enact that scene from the Great Escape!
6. Put them in your soup to add flavour and thickness!
7. Use them as a sail on a model ship which you can then name "The HMS Capitalism"!
8. I've just realised that number 2 doesn't work because there aren't any beaches in Germany you can easily sunbathe on!
9. Put weights in them and drop them in the swimming pool of a household that also owns a Jack Russell terrier, then run into the house screaming "The dog's drowning!".
10. Oh yeah, and make sure the Jack Russell terrier isn't in the same room as the people you pull this on, as then you'll look a bit of a chump.
11. Paint yourself grey, then swan around in them while saying "Cunnilingus. The new fragrance from Calvin Klein." Then everyone will think you're a television advertisement that has somehow escaped!
12. Wear them in order to conceal your testicles from civilians and authority figures!
Once again I find myself contemplating a dilemma of utmost importance if you happen to live in a happy little fantasy world where playful sheep romp gleefully through unspoilt green fields and where you can get competitively priced home insurance at every street corner.
At the moment, my dilemma is this:
"If I were exposed to some material that gives me superpowers in accordance with some existing aspect of my personality, what would I get and how would I use them?"
I can answer that last bit straight away - I'd be a supervillain. It's so much easier that way. Superheroes always have to have had some stupid relative killed by villains before they start beating up bad guys, and frankly I don't have the patience to wait for my dad to go the way of all flesh. Also, if you suddenly find yourself a higher order of being, you're more likely to want to get some income out of it than defend those ungrateful mortal gits who aren't one bit as cool as you.
But the question remains: What superpowers would I get?
Okay, first possibility: the radioactive mush enhances by several degrees my most prevalent existing skills.
NAME: The Temp
POWERS: The astonishing ability to type 10,000 words a minute, file a million documents with a single flick of the wrist, and use even the most advanced Microsoft Access functions.
SIGNATURE WEAPONS: A specially modified industrial stapler that fires adamantium boomerang staples, and a laptop computer attached to my hip with a steel bracket.
SIDEKICKS: 'Mistress Coffee', a woman with a huge hose gun that shoots scalding hot coffee, and 'Captain Scaffolding', that really buff bloke the office workers all drooled over in that Diet Coke advert.
HOW I WOULD ROB A BANK: First I would take in the layout of the bank and use my laptop to create a Powerpoint presentation in a split second, detailing the positions of all the guards and hostages. Then, using a series of complicated Microsoft Access queries, I would consider every possible point of entry and escape route. Mistress Coffee and Captain Scaffolding would tie up all the guards and civvies while I use my incredible filing skills to file away all the available paper money into the back of the Temp Van.
NEMESIS: The Employment Agent.
Possibility 2: My ability to make people incredibly angry with inoffensive throwaway statements would be greatly enhanced.
NAME: Mr. Angry
POWERS: The ability to project 'Fury Rays', which would make everyone in the near vicinity incoherent with rage.
SIGNATURE WEAPONS: A pair of Uzis, because they're totally sweet.
SIDEKICKS: 'The Incredulous Woman', who is so profoundly stupid that she renders people speechless with astonishment, and 'Confusing Boy', who does nothing but make a series of random statements and gestures.
HOW I WOULD ROB A BANK: First, the Incredulous Woman would catch the staff completely off guard by asking if it was possible to get pieces of string converted into Euros. Then I would project my Fury Rays which would make all the clerks so blindly angry that they would hurl currency at me in the hope that I would be injured. Then I would make a security guard so cross that he would shoot me unprovoked in the leg, so I can sue the bank for millions upon millions of pounds. Confusing Boy will prevent further attack from the security personnel by sitting in front of them, waving some paper plates and saying "Popcorn wombat. Eat my face!"
NEMESIS: Commander Sedative.
Last possibility: The radioactive material gives me serious radiation poisoning and I die.
NAME: The Deceased
POWERS: The ability to lie still for indefinite periods of time and emit a vile stench.
SIGNATURE WEAPONS: Two coins over my eyelids.
SIDEKICKS: 'Vinny the Vulture' and 'Cassie the Carrion Worm'.
HOW I WOULD ROB A BANK: I would lie in my grave and seriously consider the implications of robbing a bank.
NEMESIS: The Necrophile.
material not otherwise credited by Ben 'Yahtzee' Croshaw