A Little Something Off Topic - Hey, I've got nothing better to do. What's your excuse?
A LITTLE SOMETHING OFF TOPIC
"Hey, I've got nothing better to do. What's your excuse?"
Brought to you by L33+ H4X0r & W38m45+3r, Super-2!!!
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Todays date is (and I'm not making this up!):
AN UPDATE? NO WAY!!!- 6:01 PM Central, 3 August 2003 - Super-2
Yeah, I'm back, what are you going to do about it?
And still, after all this time away, I try to convince myself people are actually reading my updates. That's just pathetic...
IT'S UPDATE TIME- 5:02 PM Central, 9 June 2003 - Super-2
First things off, straight to the good stuff: I got it! No more waiting until next week! None of this "I'm too scared to buy a magazine!" talk! Granted, I ended up swiping it from the table at work when everyone was gone, but as I am using it for a greater good, I don't think the owner will mind.
It is a copy of US Weekly, with the American Idol finalists Ruben and Clay on the front, sharing a quick smile at the final showing I suppose. I'm not sure, as I have yet to read this magazine. Also a major headline: New High School Pix (which are coincedentally 'Shocking') of Jen(nifer Aniston) and Brad (Pitt). As well as that, something about wedgies being the new fashion in Hollywood (which itself gives hope to thousands of nerds), and something about Nelly's sister's battle with cancer (hard to make fun of that, but I'll do my best).
So hopefully tonight I'll have that written, uploaded, and ready for your viewing pleasure/displeasure.
In addition to that, more 'Stack Pushing' antics today, as Bob 'The Mascot' Bob wrought terrible doom upon the stacks of my brother and the Norwegian Mexican. Following his nefarious attack, the NorMex engaged in a series of brutal counter-attacks. So successful were the strikes that Bob 'Bob' Bob was forced onto the defensive, and ended up spending the rest of the morning restacking one damn pallet.
Pure comedic genius, fellow batteries. Only the ALSOT Mascot, a confused Mexican, and an evil race of intelligent machine overlords could devise that kind of slap-stick humor.
I wept tears, it was so beautiful. Then I wept for the human race. So sad; so very, very sad...
Finally, the other good stuff. Let's talk graphics. I'm going to have a nice title pic, some cartoony drawing of me (done by me, because that's about how much respect I have for myself), and little icons that'll be placed next to each update or review or whatever-the-fuck so you can tell at a quick eye-sizzling glance who's polluting your mind. And Lens Flares! Boy do I love 'em, and I know you all love them too! So many damn Lens Flares you'll have a seizure... a HAPPY SEIZURE!!
I'll get around to that stuff eventually, but on to more pressing matters: I rearranged the 'Links' section down below. Got rid of the dropdown-thingy, as I couldn't seem to make heads or asses of it. Added the first inter-page link, though there is presently nothing really there yet, except the page layout. Thanks for your patience, I'll be here all week! And longer, if at all possible!
3, 2, 1... UPDATE!!!- 5:47 PM Central, 8 June 2003
Okay, I'm a pussy, and I'll tell you why.
I'm in Wal-Mart yesterday, checking out at the register, about to put some time on my phonecard, when out of the corner of my eye I spy a copy of 'Beautiful Home' on the magazine rack. And I think to myself "Hey! What a great oppurtunity! Pick it up, bitch!" Thus, I walk over to it, reach for it, and... I stop. My hand hangs in place a good foot from the magazine.
One half of my brain, the bitchy artsy-part I assume, says "Grab it! You owe it to you're tiny fanbase!" In comes my rational, what-are-you-doing half of my brain with "It's a home decorating magazine. Consider your options..." Naturally I do, and of course the rational side wins, thus punching my artsy half-brain in the face again. It's a constant struggle with those two.
Now I don't pretend to think that I'm an impulsive guy. I know it can take me anywhere from 5 minutes to several hours longer then the normal person to come to a final decision. You see, I have this tendency to analyze stuff to death. And boy do I mean 'analyze'! I consider everything from the personal, financial, and sexual ramifications. I wonder how the opposite sex will look at me, or if my friends will lose more of their no-doubt limited respect for me.
So, like in so many other decisions between the odd and the normal, I naturally let my fear of societies mocking laughter turn my hand at the moment of judgement. It was there, ladies, gentlemen, and robot-aliens. I had it, within half-a-minute I could have been pouring through its hallowed pages, dissecting it for comedy value that I would later throw onto this poor webpage like so much vomit.
I had it, and I let oppurtunity slip, fall, and plummet to it's inevitable death. I am so ashamed, I think I may cry; or worse, I may snort so hard I spew milk out my nose, and then cry.
Luckily, in addition to being a choice-challenged person, I'm also quite shallow at the worst of times. So I'm sure I'll get over it.
But next week. Definetly next week...
THOU SHALT UPDATE- 4:17 PM Central, 6 June 2003
I work in a warehouse. Specifically a sunflower seed warehouse, where I spend all day tossing 50lb bags of sunflower seeds (unsalted, in shell, if the bags speak the truth) onto pallets until 3:30, when they unlock the shackles and release me back into the wild.
Now at this job, I happen to work with two rednecks. Granted, they aren't Southern rednecks, so no moonshine; nor are they Texan rednecks, and thus no pick-up trucks larger than your average space-shuttle launch tractor. They are Mid-west rednecks, a variety of redneck known mostly for it's love of everything concerned with fishing, hunting, and NASCAR.
I know this because the one wears a Dale Ernhart (however you spell it) t-shirt that says "We will remember...", accompanied by a conveniently placed ketchup stain on Dale's holy-light-encircled face. The other speaks fluent Norwegish, so I get to hear "Don't ya' know!" and "Eh?" and the ever popular "Hey now!" all day long.
Thus far I have been lucky enough to avoid all of their no-doubt riveting conversations about gasoline, collectors plates, and the other stuff Jeff Foxworthy uses for comedy material. Unfortunately, I still must work with them, and thus must suffer their annoying and needlessly stupid antics.
Take today for example. These two idiots (along with their good buddy 'Bob', who from this day forth shall be the official mascot of Super Industries Inc. Gmbh. Ltd., because he is, after all, 'Bob') spent two-and-a-half hours knocking eachothers stacks of bags over. It was amusing watching these morons continually restack their pallets, if only because I knew how amazingly zany and humorous it was for one guy to say "Ooof!" and knock the stack over, and the other goes "Oh no! You bastard!" and attempts to attack him with Redneck-Fu (a patented self-defense style that emphasizes a lack of balance and, unsurprisingly, a lack of intelligence, both of which are also required before the terrible training regimen can begin).
After the initial good laugh I get, I realize that now there are fewer people taking bags from the conveyor belt, leaving me and my henchman (who I will refer to as 'Nate', because that happens to be his name) to work faster then should be neccessary. So temporary amusement turns to anger as we are left to pick up the slack while Redneck #1, Redneck #2, and Bob linger on the historic moment when Bob pushed over Redneck #2's stack.
I wish I could say we were all better people for their stupidity, but that would be like saying we are all better people for the Holocaust. I don't generally find using the Holocaust as the basis for humor a tasteful thing, but it works good in analogies, which I may or may not elaborate on some other time. Suffice to say that while I don't have a readily available supply of bathtub liquor, nor do I have access to a pick-up truck capable of hauling around small planets, you can rest assurred knowing that my supply of 'Stack Pushing' humor will never go unsated.
Thank you, Rednecks (and Bob)! Thank you one and both of you!
As an aside, I'm heading to 'Town' this afternoon. By 'Town', I am of course making a vague reference to Fargo/Moorhead. Don't ask, it wasn't a well thought out plan, as I was not involved. In any case, I'm buying the Animatrix ('cause I'm that kind of guy), and some underwear. More importantly to you folks, I'm going to get the first magazine. I don't know quite what I'll get, but it'll be worth it, trust me.
Now I just need to work up the balls to actually buy something only a chick or a gay-man would purchase...
TO UPDATE OR NOT TO UPDATE- 10:56 PM Central, 5 June 2003
So get this: I wake up after an hour-and-a-half of sleep, try and turn the light on, and fall over. In hearing the audible 'THUD' produced by my lack of balance, my father came upstairs to make sure I wasn't having a party, you know, just in case, because kids nowadays do those things. So I'm told.
My dad is vehemently against 'out-of-place noises'. Like a loud 'THUD' at 10:40 PM, when everybody in the house knows that lights are out at 10:00. In addition, they just built this kids playground nonsense right across the street, next to the church. Not only is there a playground, but also a basketball court (because of all the thug-hommies in Halstad, MN) and just recently, a gazeebo. Which is funny, because I thought a 'gazeebo' was generally a little hut thing, with benches and such. By contrast, the Halstad, MN gazeebo turns out to be more of a... well, a barn.
AND WHAT IN THE HOLY-FUCK IS THE HIGH-PITCHED WHINING SOUND DRIVING BY MY WINDOW EVERY 5 MINUTES?!?! I've been hearing it since I woke up, and it is annoying! It's a car or lawn-tractor I think, but why in the hell is it doing laps around the block? I won't pretend to imagine that the ability to reason is a strong trait amongst the predominantly Norwegian community here, but Christ, people!
Two words: Common courtesy. Followed conveniently by three more: I'm still tired. G'night.
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