Stooping to a New Low

Modern Day Mikey

2007-05-13T05:28:00.000-04:00

While you all were studying for exams and writing papers in the fall of 2004, I was fast at work in my dorm room single drawing picture requests in MS Paint. I had started a thread, on that same Otakubooty forum that I keep talking about, which simply stated "tell me what to draw and I will." At first the requests were pretty simple or silly, but after awhile people wanted me to draw more and more situations of despicable sexual nature. Shamefully I complied because the praise for my work was greatly appreciated during that dark time of my life. Anyways, I just recently took most (I lost some of these plus all the original bitmaps during the great crash of '06) and made a flickr account so you can catch a glimpse at my sad, sad genius.

A lot of these are nws (NOT WORK SAFE) as they tend to depict very realistic penises. Of course if you are reading my blog instead of working then you should be ashamed. Each drawing comes with the original request in its description and a working title.

My MS Paint Masterpieces

Enjoy.

A Procrastination Story

2007-05-12T01:59:00.000-04:00

A year ago I was taking a Creative Writing class at Greenville Tech (College that Works). Now, I wrote some stuff in that class that I'm pretty proud of that have no place in a blog, which are traditionally set aside for shitty poems about hating your parents. If you want to read any of the stuff I wrote that I consider "cool" then drop me a line online and I'll send them to you.

No, this is a story, not about creativity but about lack of productivity.

For our final Portfolio I had to have completed four poems and two pieces of short fiction. My one short story (a scifi thriller) was pretty long and needed revising. I didn't revise it. I touched up a couple of pieces I thought were pretty solid and word-shitted out some peer reviews that I hadn't done earlier in the semester. I had taken a poem that I wrote (in a very emotional state which I might talk about next post) my senior year of high school and revamped it for the final project. All in all putting this whole thing together hadn't taken much time at all and when I did a check off of all the things I needed I came up one poem short.

Now, I had plenty of time to write out a poem and make a fake revision of it but, in typical Matty fashion, I decided to waste my time staring at a web browser or something. I probably played Advance Wars: Dual Strike for the 100 millionth time. Honestly, I don't remember what I filled up that valuable work time with. I do remember that eventually as dawn approached I was in dire need of a poem.

Here is what I did. I fished up a copy of an old thread from Otakubooty that I had posted in about two years prior. The topic of this thread? SUPER SMASH BROS. HAIKU. Yes, haiku(s?) regarding the Nintendo fighting game Super Smash Bros. Melee. I copied and pasted all of my (no, I didn't plagiarize) old haiku from that thread into a Word Document, formated, and saved. Needless to say (considering the scrutiny of my school's grading criteria) I got an A on the whole project.

Here for you all now are the haiku (and the limerick epilogue) I submitted for a final project in an upper level English class at our Community College. Enjoy!

***

she sternly gazes
at Sealab, destroyed, but still
Yoshi or Young Link?

Oh shit, I’m Kirby.
Damage two hundred per cent
Where’s Mr. Saturn?

Queen of sleep and dreams
Sing your sexy lullaby
Ready for down-B?

shall I pull the sword,
or remain forever young?
and not have sword pulled.

Ugh I feel so sick.
What do you prescribe, Doctor?
"Me kicking your ass."

IM BOWSER RARRR RARRR
FIRE FIRE MAIM BITE FIRE PRINCESS
RARRR RARRR RARRR RARRR RARRR

Pokefloats. Wait...what?
No really, what is this shit?
Good God, what the fuck?

Two hundred ninety...
Where the hell is the last one?
Childhood wasted.

Mushroom missed the point.
Mario missed the Mushroom.
Look out, Mario!

Pink stain on the ground
Reminds me of Pink Yoshi.
Come back to me, Yosh!

My pink Yoshi hat-
Glowing beacon in the dark.
Young Link understands.

***

Haikus aren't the cool way to post,
But believe me I'm not here to boast.
Although mine were better
Straight down to each letter,
You've all killed the art to a ghost.

I needed to make something quite fresh;
Haikus reek of old Bangladesh.
And since I'm the wiser
Gimmick fertilizer
I decided to give the art new flesh.

The "F" in F5 Stands for Failure.

2007-05-09T01:31:00.000-04:00

I think Blogger.com must be under some kind of Denial of Service attack because all of your comments aren't being reported on my end. I hit F5 (the shortcut button for refreshing a webpage for you blogbabies) for the better part of the day hoping to see what you all had to say about the latest look into my abyss. Needless to say, I sent Blogger.com a very concerned email shortly after I realized there was a problem. I'm still waiting to hear back from them. I've just felt oh so alone and I NEED you guys to reply to my blog. If I don't hear back from you guys on what I've written then how can I justify living? Boo hoo! Woe is me.

YEAH, MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT.

I bet you boiz n' gurlz thought that I was some pathetic waste of space that justifies his life through what others think of him. Well sorry to disappoint you, dicklicks, but my world doesn't revolve around what you think no matter how much you think it. I think some people need to build a time machine and go back and talk with Freud to get your egos checked out. Let me lay out just how pathetic you all are compared to me. Were you getting teary-eyed reading my opening blogograph? I custom wrote that little intro to tug at your weak little heartstrings. I've studied blog upon blog throughout my research and I know what kind of emotional buzzwords are best used to get comments. And I'll tell you right now that I'm not about to stoop to those tactics, pun in-motherfucking-tended. Yeah, I'm mad you guys think my life depends on what you, my small group of readers, thinks. But it's not true. Still not convinced that I'm more e-cool than you? Well let me let you in on a little secret:

I daily visit four (and only four) other websites that can supply me with the comments I need. I'm not a blogger exclusive. So I hope I don't bruise any of your feelings with this revelation of where else I go to get my juice.

Otakubooty.com
I'm a proud member of the Otakubooty community. Otakubooty is a dating website for people who consider themselves, no, ourselves otaku. What is an otaku? Why not just ask me to define the word Juggalo? It's just impossible to describe in words what an otaku is, but if I had to try I'd say, "[It] is a person who is cooler than most other people on the internet." I get maybe 4 or 5 comments from members on that site EVERY DAY. That's like an infinity times more than I get here. Hear that? Ya'll is slim pickins. Some of my best e-friends take time out of their busy lives to skim through the prewritten list of comments that you are allowed to leave. Some of these comments are considered 18+ so I won't go into them in detail here. Occasionally I'll even get a message from some hot chick asking me why I've viewed her profile 200 times. Basically, I can go to this website and get all the attention I need in exchange for posting nude pictures of myself, and that's more than I can say for your sorry lot.

Gamefaqs.com
Maybe you've heard of it? It's only the biggest and best online community for people who are into gaming. If you want good conversation about your favorite games then check no further than the Gamefaqs message boards. If you are some noob lurker on their site then you might know me as Sephirothr4ven-kun. Yeah, THE Sephirothr4ven-kun. Gamefaqs is a place where I know if I put up a thread about who would win in a fight, Yoshi or Young Link, I'll get some timely responses. We have this funny inside joke where every time I post something everyone responds with the word "fag." It's a pretty hilarious typo of the word "faq" (stands for Frequently Answered faQs) which I'm known to be pretty 1337 at writing, when it comes down to it. I'll usually get like 40 or 50 replies like this before my topic sinks to the bottom. I'm smart enough to take screenshots of all those threads in case people want to try to question my clout. And NO, I don't photoshop them.

Facebook.com
You could almost call me a founding member of this community. Back when it first came out I got in on the ground floor on day one. And I'm not the type of bozo who goes around friending everyone I see just to swell up my count. Last time I tried that (as a test to all those out there) no one actually accepted my friendships (You all passed the test). Facebook is set up to where I don't even need to get comments directly from my friends. I just check my feed and it's like every detail of their lives are commented up against my own. Facebook is the Fun House Mirror of networking sites. I know some of you bloozers are on there too, so don't think I'm not aware of your little games. Writing on each others' walls about how today you aren't going to comment on my blog so that when you do inevitably flood me with comments tomorrow I'll appreciate them more. Listen! I don't need tough love okay? I just need anything... no no no. Okay, no. That was a test, too...ah, and you all passed but barely with like a D-.

And lastly but definitely not least Myspace.com
Man, am I popular on this website. I can't look away for less than three minutes without some Super Model asking me to be her friend. How many of you know Super Models? No, Daniel, your wife's JC Penny catalog doesn't count lol! There is something that some of you lack and will probably never learn. It's called charisma, and it's what I use to fill out online profiles to make girls want to be my friend and message me about their picture websites. Lesson 1: Always say that you are single, always. This will have the honies flocking to your inbox. Lesson 2: Always say that you are dissatisfied with the size of your penis. Girls love a guy who's sensitive and honest. Lesson 3 (the greatest of all): Make sure you don't have any losers in your Top 8. Go ahead and check, you won't find any of yourselves in there. It's nothing personal I just think you might cramp my style. Follow my lessons and you'll become pretty popular on myspace.

I hope this sheds some light on my daily web browsing. I'm not just sitting here at my blog hitting F5 over and over waiting for some kind of human contact. No I sit with 5 open tabs in my Mozilla Firefox Browser. Each one opened to one of the websites I mentioned above. I then follow a very strict refresh and browse regimen to maximize the comments I get. First I hit F5, scan, and process any changes. If there are no changes on the website I click the tab to the immediate right of the previous tab (unless it's the last tab in which case I cycle back to the first). I then follow that Refreshercise over and over until someone has responded to a thread or profile. Then I take the time to compose and send a follow up comment and to bask in my badittude. Only then do I move on to the next tab. You see, the Internet never slows and certainly never stands still, especially if you have up to five websites to visit. You can become a very busy and successful commenteer if you just follow my (F)five easy steps.

So, don't cry for me, Argentina, (you can almost spell Internet with the letters in that) the truth is I never left you. I merely minimized your tab. I'll be back one day. Today. Like in 4 minutes.

Matty, Pro Farmer, #1 Dad

2007-05-08T01:19:00.000-04:00

Blogs are omnivorous. They feed off of both reader comments and stories about getting dumped on the Internet and the like. Getting comments from your blog readers is like getting a huge steak at a restaurant when you ordered a tiny steak. You just aren't expecting it and when the bill comes you totally don't tell the waiter. In your state of fullness, however, you are more than likely going to tip him an exorbitant amount and then get inspired to go home and write a really good blog post. Writing about emotional iDumping is like going out and shoveling a tough, fibrous diet of e-woe and heart@breaking into the readers' mouths. See, all blog readers are fat cows. Yes, you, the person sitting in the chair in front of the screen, are nothing but a cow to be slaughtered for my nourishment. Sure if I feed you a mass of grain you'll respond with constant, yet lackluster replies. All that personal drama sits in the readers stomach and over time get turned into cud. Then they'll hoark it back up into their mouths and chew on it for a time before deciding to produce milky responses. If I want the juiciest comments I can't keep feeding you the same boring stuff. No! I have to fatten you up even more with tales of the most horrible bloody lows I can think up, because a man can't live on tiny steak alone.

A reader needs variety in his or her diet. It's the only way. When my blog first started the comments posted by some users were so dramalicious that I didn't even need to think up any new material at all. I just fed those readers' comments into the bovine mouths of all my other readers. For awhile this was the perfect "all meat" diet and my blog was awesome. But this kind of cannibalism can only create disaster. Even my most faithful readers ended up contracting a strain of Mad Blog Disease of the Brain that ate them away faster than that Micro Machines Motor Mouth guy at a pussy eating contest. I felt like I couldn't compete with the insane success of my early work so I just gave up on farming for comments all together.

So what do I feed you?

If I talk only about video games or Yu Gi Oh cards then I'm going to alienate a lot of you. If I just talk about how bitchy all my dumb, mean old ex-girlfriends are then they'll stop reading and I'll lose half my audience. I can't just sit around and talk about this bump on my shaft because, although it may be important, it's not going to get much of a response except from the small Doctor community that are required, by the State, to read and analyze my blog. (If only I had a pair of tits my life would be so much easier.) While I may only have modest man-boobs I do have one thing. My ability to create metaphors to link ideas.

Metaphors are tits.

Nothing says, "Good writing." like being able to bring two things together with a complex and incoherent metaphor. Take my whole cow thing I tried to create. You may think it isn't going anywhere. You may think it's nothing but a weak Mootaphor that I used to up my farmer contingent. Well when the cattle get restless you can only do one thing. Give them a firm, swift prod. First with a link to a picture of my "prod" being used as a DS stylus and then with a nice juicy slice of life. People who live amongst the blogotropic planes don't have lives. They suck off the lives of others like how that Motor Mouth guy sucks off a bull's cock at a Bestiality Convention. Filling their small, efficiently pink mouths with a half pint of hot, salty experience, which has a distinct oatty aroma, satisfies them in a way never intended by the Lord our God.

So what rad adventure do I have to tell you about today? Well, I, Matty S., have been digging an 80 foot trench. Hmm. Doesn't seem like much does it? Let me tell you something, Miss Priss; until you work a day in your god damn life and get out there and break some earth instead of breaking hearts then don't ever come up to me online and talk to me about how you are "all that." I have a connection with the Pioneers of our Country's early days, the first Cowboys. I have those same blisters that they had on their palms right at the knuckle. I have those other blisters on my dick that come from jacking off with a fist full of blisters. I've felt the sweet sting as palm blister on dick blister burst forth like the first time Pa took us down to Santa An to see the fireworks show the Traveling Merchant brought all the way from the settled territories. My taint has sweated and sweated creating a perfect mixture of scranal sweat that'll make your boxers smell sweeter than a freshly plowed field. And I do all this, like the early farmers, to start a new beginning.

When I finish this ditch I'll have enough money to move to the coast and settle down and maybe pick up a few more cows along the way. I'll have plenty of experience in trough digging and I'll be able to keep my readers fed with a proper diet of drama, wit, gross-out humor, and racism. It's going to be hard to get from A to B. I don't have an Indian girl to lead me through the unmarked paths. What I need most of all is to have a herd that'll respect me and treat me right. Maybe even post a comment on my blog every now and again. I figure with enough cooperation I'll be able to brand all of you soon enough with my own special brand (LOL) of blogedy. So saddle yourselves up and get ready for me to ride your tight butts into the sunset. This blog ain't about ta' mosie, I don't reckon.

Who Let the Dogs Out?

2007-04-18T13:07:00.000-04:00

Well, if you'd stop your Whooping for just a second I'd inform you that,on Monday, they, in fact, let themselves out. I'm not talking in a cute self-sufficient dog-door they go-out-as-they-please way, or in an Internet traveling e-crap directly into your computer's recycle bin Aibo way either. I'm talking about opening doors like the Velociraptors in Jurassic Park. We live on a very dangerous road and we don't want them to get outside. Our road is busy, narrow, and our section has no sidewalk and low visibility because of a hill. It'd be great fun for sledding on until you were cut to shreds by early morning rush hour. We've known our bigger dog could open the gate to our back fence and we stupidly thought that tying the gate closed with twine would be enough to keep them in. Our dog must come from a Nautical background (or at least must love the taste of twine) because as I was printing out some 1040EZ's on Monday I saw them run into the neighbor's yard.

Irritated and a little worried, my friend and I went outside to try to wrangle them back to our yard like that Twilight Princess mini-game (Whoops a plenty). With a pocket full of treats I began my search and soon found our little dog, Bella; however, Jesse was nowhere in sight. I picked Bella up and trotted over to our yard to put her safely inside.

The sequence of sounds that happened next are burned into my memory: The screech of brakes being slammed on, a sickening thud, an "Oh shit!," the yelps and whines of my dog in pain, and my final but futile WHOOP!

I told my friend, "Fuck. Jesse's hit. Go," and we both ran up to the street to find her. I didn't want to see her because I was expecting something straight out of Rodriguez's Planet Terror, some sprawling mess of guts and gore. In the 20 seconds between hearing the horrible sounds and reaching my dog my mind began to oscillate around a set of lows and highs in a way that even I'd have trouble putting into a Roller Coaster metaphor. I'd grasp for silver-linings thinking, Well at least we won't have to buy as much dog food anymore. I'd shoot blame at myself along the lines of If I hadn't wasted so much time getting Bella in I could've gotten to her. I'd just pray she wasn't dead. The sight of her looking back at me in pain put me in a huge low, but also reassured me that her injuries weren't too bad.

I've been playing a lot of Mario vs DK 2: March of the Minis recently and so I think that's why I'm quick to use it for explanation. Jesse and Bella were like two Minis on the move. Bella was tottering along an easy path and so I focused my stylus swiping to setting her up near the elevator door. Jesse on the other hand needed to be guided through the biggest onslaught of Gorilla Minis, Fire Wheels, Piranha Plants, and Shy Guys which I hadn't been totally aware of. So of course she had been immobilized. The thing about MvDK2:MotM is that there is no reason to send your Minis to the goal unless they all get there in an orderly chain for the highest combo score and Jesse, the Golden Mario, wasn't given enough attention. Fortunately, in the game there is a reset option in life there are dog hospitals.

We rushed her to the vet's office in my friend's car. I'd lifted her like she was a dog made out of paper and she seemed to be fine with only a cut over her eye and a bum leg. The vet said she was in a lot of shock and that her hip might have been dislocated, she was lucky though and they'd call me when they found out anything more.

Being in a situation like that puts your low points in perspective. Sure you feel like shit for letting it happen, but you also are the one who acted cool and got help. The adrenaline rush gets you feeling like a Superman. Then at home you are just waiting and dreading for a phone call with bad news. That's when I, of course, turned on the news and saw the stuff about VA Tech. Talk about taking your newly found sense of perspective, chewing it up, and then spitting it into a spittoon and then planting it in your garden, watering it, and watching it sprout into a tree and then eating the fruit from the tree only to find a worm (like the worm from the Bookworm flash games) in the fruit that tells you all about what lows really are. Here I was dreading some phone call about my dog's well being when 26,000 parents were all waiting for phone calls to find out if their children had survived. And yet I was so shaken from the dog experience I couldn't do much but feel more concern for Jesse (She's fine by the way, she can't walk to well and is pretty out of it, but she didn't sustain any major injuries).

Life is a roller coaster and Blogs are like Cedar Point. They catalog the ups and downs of our day with cool metaphors and emoticons (sometimes links and pictures if I wasn't lazy). The best we can hope to do is ride them, hold on for dear life and when coming out of a wicked loop yell out a big ol' Whoop!

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' What!

2007-04-13T21:17:00.000-04:00

Times I've realized that I'm pretty fat:

1) Upon recieving my full rack of Jack Daniel's Saucey Rib-o-rama from TGIFridays I said to the waitress, "Whoo boy there is no way in hell I can eat all of these ribs." Of course I devoured them and didn't even feel full so when the waitress came back and saw my totally clean plate I had to pretend to be stuffed and not want dessert even though I wanted the Mocha Cream Cheesecake Sundae really badly.

2) I am trying to stop drinking so many soft drinks to get back the rock hard abs I used to have in my Lacrosse days. Since I've cut out like 1,000 calories of my daily diet I've been snacking on Lil' Debbies and Airheads all throughout the day to compensate. My poop's been smelling funnier too.

3) Just tonight I went to this place called The Vortex in Hotlanta and I got a burger called "The Coronary By-pass," which is a burger with bacon, cheese, and a huge fried egg on it. Yeah, I finished it in like 3 minutes and wasn't full at all, in fact I think it was such an improvement over my normal diet that my arteries unclogged some because I was coughing up this nasty blood all night.

If TV tells us anything though it's that even the fattest of grossies can get some bangin' milf wives if they can star in their own sitcom. Power to ya, King o' Queens. Peace out.

Don't Count Your Eggs... EVER!

2007-04-12T14:16:00.000-04:00

This Easter Weekend I did nothing but drink. That's how we celebrate it down South-- we start after the Good Friday service and don't stop until 12:01 AM on Awesome Monday. When I arrived back home from visiting a friend (a Georgian bootlegger) my mother looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "Oh, my pious, loving child." If I heard her wrong it is because I was truly smashed and I know she'll forgive me. I was laid to rest in my room upon my bed, wrapped in swaddling old comforters and the curtains were closed. I slept and vomited for quite awhile and, like our Lord, rose again on the third day. OK, actually I didn't wake up until Thursday morning so technically you could say I rose on the fourth day. But come on, I'm not a pro like the Big Jeez.

What awoke me from my recuperative state was something truly horrifying: The Telephone. I don't allow any phones upstairs where I live (I do have a cell phone but I only text message on it and play Snake), but sometimes when there is a moment of silence during my anime (which I keep on in the background 24/7/365) I can sometimes hear a ring from the downstairs phone and it terrifies me.

The reason is that when I was young I shared a room with my younger brother and like all little boys we'd stay up late and have pissing contests all night (of course we called them weeing contests). Aside from distance and accuracy we'd often times "Sword Fight" where we'd cross streams (LOL insert Ghostbustaz joke haha) and make a CLANG-ish sound effect. I guess our mother had had enough of our late night clang-abouts so one night she came in our room with this Playskool full service telephone from our mock Secretary's desk in the playroom. Over and over she screamed, "RING RING! RING RING! SLEEPY BOYS DON'T SAY A THING!" While chanting she'd whip us in the legs with the phone over and over leaving us in tears and our legs covered in welts. After a few nights of this the mere sight of the phone in our rooms would leave us shivering and cowering, unable to get out of bed or make a single sound effect (which tore us to pieces inside because we'd been on a Police Academy binge). Of course as we grew older and our leg skins grew tougher we, of course, grew bolder. However, our mother was too smart. Realizing that the plastic phone wasn't having much of an effect on us anymore she went out and bought a real phone with really hard parts. Our night time rebellion was quelled before it even had a chance to get off the ground and wee wee.

Good story, you might say, but what does this have to do with Easter? Well, do you remember how in my last post I likened hunting for eggs with hunting for Wii Remotes? If not just scroll down. If you are a first time reader then scroll even more down. If you don't have a scroll wheel then go buy a better mouse, dummy! Anyways, imagine (if you will) if out in your yard (where eggs are traditionally hidden) every single egg-sized patch of grass had a telephone (miniature, of course) next to it. And what if to find eggs you didn't go outside and look in every single patch of grass for them, but sat inside with a phone book and called each individual grass patch and asked them if they had any eggs inside of them. Hmm, seems more like work than a fun game, like Smear the Queer, so to speak. Now couple that with the fact that you are deathly afraid of using telephones because you were beaten with one as a child. There is no way in hell you are going to keep me inside on Easter and have me call around for eggs.

So it is with Wii Remotes. I bought myself a Nintendo Wii last December after waiting in line at Target for 3 hours in the cold. I felt like I had achieved something great, or at least bought something great. I found out that Target might have some Wiis (Easter) in their store through an Internet Rumor (Scripture) not some creepy ass phone call (Beelzubub). Getting a Wii by itself is like getting an Easter Basket, Wii Sports is like that fake grass stuff, and the Remote that comes with the system is like ONE LOUSY EGG. If you are the kid who's mom makes him wear those gay knee socks and suspenders, and you've shown up to the Egg hunt with bed-head and you've only found one egg... You are going to be next Queer to get Smeared.

So here I am with just one Remote and the ever present threat of getting smeared for it, what do I do? Every morning for the next month I go to every possible store that could sell Wii Remotes and I go inside and look for them. I don't call and I don't whine about it--I persevere. Nine times out of ten I'm going to leave the store empty handed, but after searching and searching, day after day, I finally walked into a Toys R Us that had just gotten in a shipment of Remotes. And, just like the Easter when I was seven, I paid the man $140 so that he could fill my basket with eggs and my heart with the Spirit of the Season. So next time you want to know if a store has a game or whatever in stock remember what Easter is all about. It's about getting out there and getting your hands dirty and it's about love.

Christ is Risen indeed!

2007-04-06T12:36:00.000-04:00

Think about this-- in America we hunt eggs for Easter, not for food but for fun. When we leave our houses to line up at a store for hours in the cold, again, it isn't for food but for a fun new Wii. So now in this the Season of the Spirit, think about all those around the world who have to hunt for food or wait hours in line for a daily ration, and how when they take those meager portions home to their families they aren't greated by a shiny new Next Gen console but by a stupid Gameboy Color. Ever try to play one of those by fire light? No, of course you haven't. That's because we live in a country where Easter Bunnies and George Bushes paint our eggs for us.

I'll talk more about America's food hunt (The Hunt for Wii Remotes) when I return from my Georgian Easter Revival.

Stooping to a Newer Lower

2007-04-04T02:57:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm back. After some extensive online polling and wikki'ing I discovered that, not only would Cloud totally beat up Snake, but that most people consider it lower to have a successful updated blog than an outdated one. I've finally done some soul searching and looked into my heart and decided that I want to start up my blog again and try to keep filling it with content about my down-trodden life. Over the past few months I've been in a place so low that even I'm ashamed. I'm of course talking about that dark hole, the ultimate low, The Omega Void!!!

Googling "omega void" might lead you to believe that I'm talking about an online point and click game, but The Omega Void (or TOV) came to me in a fever dream when I was twelve. I had just finished reading a couple chapters in a Xanth novel (I'm not sure which novel it was but I'm pretty sure it fell between A Spell for Chameleon and Night Mare, but I know for a fact it wasn't Castle Roogna, trust me) where the main character had asked some witch girl to marry him through the use of some sexual pun. The witchling's father finds out about his proposal and voices his complaints about them with a shocked yet sexual pun. Seems pretty harmless, but when coupled with the fever-addled brain of a chubby twelve-year-old the by-product of Xanth and sleepiness was a dream portal which allowed me to glimpse TOV!!!

To visualize TOV I want you to think of that black sphere that powerd the ship in the movie Event Horizon. No, you're thinking about the golden sphere from Sphere. I'm talking about that movie with the guy from Jurrasic Park. Yeah the main dude not the guy from The Fly or that snake movie, yup, that guy! Ok, so TOV is kind of like that sphere only that it appears at first to be completely white. It then slowly begins to turn black like the waxing of the moon (only from top to bottom) until the entire sphere is black, and at the exact moment that it completely turns black the father from that Xanth novel exclaims, "You're getting married??" Never have I been so filled with fear like the times that I saw TOV turn completely black over and over again in my mind. I woke up sweating and wondering who put sticky glue in my bed.

So, now ten years later I've finally told the world exactly what TOV looks like, but what is it exactly? Ok, here goes: The Omega Void is simply the place where any and all creative ideas go when they are not written down.

Have you ever thought of a hilarious STD joke while you are trying to sleep only to have completely forgotten it the next morning, and they you curse yourself and the gods for not having a pen and pad by your bed and wonder if they put sticky glue in your bed? Well I had plenty of pens and pads and all sorts of gizmos and whatzits near me and I still out of pure laziness decided not to write them down. The Omega Void has been sucking the creative life out of me for the past seven months. I did manage to draw some comics (that I plan on posting) and I have written down ideas for t-shirts, but if I don't share them with my fellow Blogosphere inhabitants how on Earth am I going to get comments?

So I'm back and I'm going to take you down a new and exciting ride through my life. If you were wondering where the amusement ride analogy was well wonder no more, because you are about to go down the wildest water slide of your life. Ever been to White Water in Atlanta? Well next to the Gulf Creamer is a ride my brother and I deemed Black Baby Splash Down. You sit in a tube and plumet through a covered, pitch black tube. Here's where the creative spin comes in because before you are two paths; one leads to The Omega Void, it's the easy path, it's the path you like taking because it lets you play Warcraft and jack off sad and alone in your room with no outside contact; AND THEN there is another path, a path that when taken leads you to something new and exciting--a pit filled with black infants. You do what is only natural and you scream in the most high pitched voice you can muster so that all the people at the bottom will think you are a scared little girl. But what comes out of that dark tube? An out-of-shape white guy in his early twenties. Those people are going to laugh and they are going to comment about it on your blog. And that's a good, good feeling.

WTB [Blog Update] 1g1g1g please PST

2006-09-14T01:42:00.000-04:00

Well it has been a while since I've updated this beast of a shameful blog. I'm sure many of my devoted readers have been frantically hitting f5 with one hand while keeping their fingers crossed with the other. Well today's constant refresh session is going to have refreshing results ha ha ha. I'm back after a long string of very sad sunken lows that I'll just have to document on my blog.

The day after my last post April's legal hounds finally gnawed their way through the milkbone bars of my jail cell existence. I was awoken to the clicks and pops and whirrs of tens of tens of reporters at my front door begging to be the first to interview the notorious Black Boob Toucher (yeah I didn't think of it you can thank The Boston Globe). I told them that everything was accounted for in my blog and jeez couldn't I get a little privacy? That's when it hit me. The Book. You know that book that policemen and judges throw at Crime-doers? That's the one that hit me and flung me ass backwards into a police stretch hummer that doubled as an interrogation chamber. They strapped my arms to a lie detector and then strapped some electrodes to my nuts just for fun (I had my own laugh when they had to go get the smaller electrodes out of the supply car and thus giving me some more time to laugh and compose myself).

I told them everything that I told you all in that fateful blogpost and let me tell you my nuts haven't been that zapped since Boy Scout camp! Apparently the lie detector took my flawless narrative style of storytelling to be lying. They made a quick conference call with April (who I figure to be a crime fighter or Ace Attorney) and came back to tell me that I was a "sick man" but that nothing of the story was true! Of course I was crushed and felt horrible that no one believed the story of my life. I mean I was there wasn't I? They then told me some made up fact that I wasn't even in school during the whole Duke catastrophe. When all twelve of my alibis confirmed this they gave me one last nut shock and let me go on my merry way.

All in all that took like 3 hours.

The rest of the time I've been away I've been playing World of Warcraft. I mentioned that I needed to level a toon up before I could get on to some more shart worthy games. To date I've spent over $12,000 on the game from buying it to their absurd monthly subscription fee to buying gold and items online. I also beat up some kid who ninja looted from my guild for some money on the side, so I guess I've kind of made money from playing it. I just went in and calculated all of the /played time on all of my characters and it clocks my total play time as being 412 days 15 hours and change. That's more than an entire year's worth of my life spent playing a game and getting phat purpz. That's the best year of my life.

I've been e-married in the game 6 times in Booty Bay, and only 4 of those times did ganking noobs come to spoil the ceremony. I proposed to my latest bride after this killer ring drop off of this Naxx boss. She said yes and I let her take it and then my guild said I was just being a "gay fag." But how is it gay if the girl I'm gonna marry is a female Nightelf Druid? I mean the guy playing her might be gay but I'm definitely not. Anyway I spent the next 3 weeks, 6 days and 21 hours playing this new Nightelf Rogue character and I got him a ton of Shadowcraft and I'm working on my Nightrazor set right now. I've got like 1200 gold that I bought online and a bank full of Runecloth. I mean with such a sweet set up how could I not want to keep playing the same encounters over and over again.

Well let me tell you a sad tale now that I left out of my initial "candy-coated" account of my WoW experience (lol). I left that bag of unplayed DS games on top of my monitor to remind me that there were plenty of game that had actual endings that I needed to beat. But grinding on mobs would make my brain forget all about those and everytime I'd open that bag up to see what was inside I'd shart a shartom bomb. Of course unlike DDR, playing WoW requires you to wear a thing called a Poop Sock. This is a sock that goes around your b-hole and allows you to take dumps while you are at your desk so that you can go on 7 hour long raids and not have any interuptions. There's also a Pee Glove, but that doesn't really factor into this. You see everytime I'd shart from shame I had the luxury of not having to change my pants. The sock did all of the work for me and I could then go back to getting mad drops and stop thinking about games with endings.

This went on for a while. In fact I consumed over $100 in socks. That's 20 packs of socks which contain 6 socks each. If one sock can hold 2 dumps (about 20 ejaculations) then I must have sharted 240 times in less than 4 weeks. The smell was getting to be too much. I hadn't shoved any cat crap under the rug in over 3 weeks and there were piles everywhere. Cat Shit Stinks! Pee Yew! Ok, I told myself (in [Common]) that I needed to stop. Also, my account had been banned for hacking and I was forced into just watching the Burning Crusade trailer on Youtube over and over again while I dreamed about all the Legendary Items I'd be seeing. When I thought it couldn't get anyworse my sock fell off right as my eye glimpsed the box for Kirby's Canvas Curse and the shart that overtook me then changed my life.

I stopped playing MMO's (well except for YPP because it's not really one and AO, SG, and EQ are just not up my alley right now). I started playing games that have single player campaigns. And the sharting has never smelt so sweet!

"DS, I'm sorry that I've been treating you so poorly. Will you marry me?"

"In Ironforge?"

"In the AH?

"For 1g?"

"PST"

":)"

Quit Playing Games With My Shart

2006-08-15T23:19:00.000-04:00

I was playing some Dance Dance Revolution: Mario Mix the other day when I got a phone call from that girl who I scared off with my post about Duke. I thought oh, shart! she's gonna give it to me now! But actually she called to say sorry about breaking things off via email and that she and I were "as cool as two pairs of hang-dried overalls swishing in a spring breeze in a burb just outside of Atlanta." Hopefully, this will put to rest some of the accusations I've got from some of my more irate readers and finally bring some closure to the issue at hand. That issue being is DDR: Marmix a viable DDR title or is it just some kiddy Nintendo bulldoo?

My take? I'd say it's pretty viable. I've spent many hours dancing to my mirrorself (Luigi) and I have grown some pretty harsh fungi to cushion the blow of the hard concrete of my basement cell floor against my raggedly described feet. So anyways I went back to pumpin' it up after I got off (lol) the phone with her. Can I get an A on Blooper Bop? Will Toad be proud of my progress in the Story Mode? Who has stolen the Music Keys? Will Bowser's Castle be unbeatable? When will my step-dad stop hurting me? These questions raced through my mind as my feet moved in patterns so complex it'd have MC Escher (or whatever that rapper's name was) going DAMN, BOI!

I was dancing so hard that I didn't realize there was a rumbling in my tummy. Dang, I thought, I gotta fart. Little did I realize I was in for the shart storm of the century... or so I thought. It was just a sweaty fart, nothing to detract me from workin' it to a little Garden Boogie. That's when my eye caught the bag of DS games sitting next to my bed. "What the shart is that?" I asked no one in particular. I paused the game and then opened the bag even more and saw that it was filled with DS games that I had never played, never even dreamed of beating. Was Christmas in August this year? That's when I sharted. The shart heard round the world some would call it, while others would go to call it the Book of Revelation of Sharts because the sharts just kept on falling like the half notes on Fishing Frenzy.

Why'd I shart so hard? Well let me tell you, not only had I eaten three Crunch Wrap Supremes for lunch, but I had a realization. It wasn't Christmas. It wasn't even Santa's Birthday. Those games that I had hardly played... had been bought with my own money and then forgotten. I've just been so distracted by games like DDR and Tetris that you can't even beat that I'd forgotten what got me into this whole business in the first place.

Sharting.

Not the shart that comes when you're dancing too hard that your sphincter can't handle it, but the sharting that comes when you've beaten a single player campaign and you say, "Hey game developers, this shart is for all that hard work." God when was the last time I've been able to say that about a game? Not since Army Men: Sarge's Gay Mutiny has a game moved me to shart so fondly. I felt ashamed. Here I'd just been forgiven by a girl who had been disgusted by me (probably for the way I had forgotten about single player games) and I couldn't even forgive myself enough to give a shart about a lousy bag of DS games. How far have I fallen? Do you all know what I use as a stand for my DDR: Marmix game pad? I use a bag of unplayed Gamecube games. A big bundle of games stacked up just to hold the peripheral for a game that has no ending! Nothing to shart over but some lousy arrows. Well Mr. Miyamoto you can take your arrows and shove them up your dry clean butt because I'm making a stand. I'm going to beat all those DS games and then I'm going to trade in all of those Gamecube games for Wii credit and you won't shart on my shart parade!

I think I'm going to start with Kirby Canvas Curse right after I level my toon up on WoW... OH SHART!

(to be continued)

Where Dat Cat Shit Go To?

2006-08-10T18:40:00.000-04:00

If there is one thing that has consistently been there for me in my life it would have to be cat shit. It's the mortar to my stone. I couldn't tell you if the sun was going to rise tomorrow but I sure as shit could bet that I'd be passing over some cat shit in the hallway as I walk to the bathroom. I'm not sure if there is a Cat Shit Fairy that comes and drops them on the carpet every night while I'm sleeping or if it's just the cat shitting on the floor, but I am sure that while I can't depend on much--I can depend on cat shit.

It's a shame then that cat shit is so nasty. Luckily I've found a way to deal with all the cat shit in my life. I call this method Out of Sight, Out of Mind. I've coined that phrase so give the props where they're due. Cat shit loses its odor and becomes rock hard pretty quickly so it's really easy to either step over or kick into a corner. Sometimes I'll lift up a rug and slide it under. If I'm feeling edgy sometimes I'll pick it up and put it in a sock. There are literally thousands of places to hide cat shit in a home, and if that's not your style then you can always just avoid it. Just think hey I bet the next person who sees that shit will clean it up, so I'll just pass by and close the door.

Once you've mastered this simple technique for avoiding cat shit you can easily apply it to other depressing or nasty things in your life.

I really don't like wars because I think they are stupid and mean and so when people say stuff like, "Hey have you seen all those wars over in that country? There is footage all over CNN!" I gotta think of a quick way to avoid having to think about them. Here is where I use the Stutter Technique. I imagine that the person I'm talking to has a very bad stutter and that when they said CNN they actually meant CN (cartoon network). So I'll respond to their question about war footage by saying, "No dude I haven't caught that rad toon but I sure am stoked about the new season of IGPX." At that point they'll usually say, "Oh man that show is rad!"

Disaster Avoided! The stutter technique can be used to divert any conversation that might not appeal to you. Remember: ignore what the person says and assume they are talking about Cartoon Network's newest line up. This is the key to keeping all those nasty rumors about war out of sight (or hear in this case lol) and out of our toon-loving minds.

What if you are one of the few sheltered people who doesn’t know enough about the Network of Cartoons to hold a convincing conversation about it? Well you are going to need a new technique. If we use what we know about cat shit we can develop any number of exciting ways to avoid those “bad” things in life. The second technique is called Feast of the Blood Wolf. Dogs love to eat one thing more than cat shit and that is human flesh. If you are like me you starve your dogs 5 days out of the week so that when they go upstairs they’ll be ready to eat all that shit that the cat left over the last few days. Well let’s say someone keeps spouting off some nonsense about Evolution (aka Devilution). Sometimes you are just in too much of a rush to counter them with your sound Biblical Evidence and need to be on your way. That’s when you simply release your dogs on them and let the dogs do the convincing for you. Who’s a survivalist of the fit now?

Maybe you aren’t a dog person. What then? Well that’s where my third technique, Paper Bag Hat, comes into play. This is a stylish variant on the original out of sight denial gig. You just take a big brown paper sack, fill it with this week’s cat shit and then put it over top of your head. You may have to lay down for a day or two to let the shit set in. This method will keep everyone who might ever talk to you from coming anywhere near you. In this manner you can live in a world free of worries in which YOU make the news. In your head. This also keeps your floors cat shit free which can be nice if you aren’t very good at stepping over the little logs.

In closing, the best way to deal with cat shit is not to yell at the cat. This will only scare it and make it shit even more. The thing to do is to just slide your gaze on by. Push that shit into a corner and go to sleep, America. You can’t keep a cat from shitting, but you can keep an eye from having to look at that shit. Use my techniques and you’ll never have to worry about that annoying doo doo ever again.

4 portraits of 4 wonderful women.

2006-08-09T01:07:00.000-04:00

1.
Well I'm sure all of you are wondering just what happened to that girl who read my blog and was so disgusted that she never wanted to see me again. Well I emailed her and waited and waited and waited. My F5 key is totally worn down and you can't read it at all anymore, but finally I got a response. Not in my email though instead it was on the wonderful website Facebook. Now normally I wouldn't check facebook because I'm not at school at Duke anymore and I think I shouldn't support a site that doesn't support my beautiful Technical College, but my friend Danny D told me that there was this hot young dotty that I needed to poke. And what do you know I had a message waiting for me. Finally some answers!

Nope. Just some round about e-talk asking me to call her if I wanted answers like it was some crazy unanimous tip to the police. I was expecting to have to meet her down at Pier 7 with $10,000 in unmarked bills just to figure out what exactly disturbed her so much. But listen, I don't need answers anymore because I've already thought up of plenty of hypothetical answers to why that are probably much more entertaining, such as: You were disturbed by my sentence structure, you were disgusted by my lack of 1980's TV show references, you felt sick when you read that I had spelled it griffon and not gryphon. I guess I'll never know.

I've given up the phone for good though and all other forms of communication that don't involve the prefixes e- or blog-. Of course you could just hop on my WoW Vent. Server if it's that important to talk directly. We'll be raiding BWL next Tuesday and I can try to find a spot. Just go to the Silver Hand Realm Forums and check out our thread for info on the addy. And no, you can't roll on the phat purplez.

2.
Next up is my Mom. It's bad enough that she has to read this blog and hear about all this horrible stuff, but now random people are emailing her about how concerned they are for me. I don't really get this. My Mom is a great woman and has no influence on the content of this blog and I feel bad that she has to be linked to me through it. So I've had to take down some information regarding my location/name etc. I love her a lot and I don't want this to cause her any grief (not sarcasm). Thanks for everything, Mom and sorry about all the masturbation.

3.
This next girl is a real bitch! LITERALLY. I'm talking about Snickers, of course, the cute little fluffy mutt that I've been watching when I house-sat last week and who I'll get to play with again when I house sit some more in a little while. Snickers is your average yippy little rascal with a heart full of gold (and hopefully not worms!). She's playful and very protective and I doubt I would have survived this one night had she not alerted me to the presence of a robber in the house the other night. Her barking gave me the advance notice I needed to escape, and when I returned later fearing the worse (that the household goods had been taken) I was delighted to see Snickers feasting away on the corpse of that nasty old burglar. She even helped me dig a shallow grave for him.

Anyway, let's get serious. The point of this portrait is awareness. I believe that Snickers is afflicted with... a weak sphincter. She'll try really hard to poo poo and half of the time it just won't make it all the way and it gets stuck in the hairs on her backside. It's really hurting her cuteness. I'd do something about it but I'm no veterinarian and I'd be afraid I'd rip an artery or something else sphincter related, so if any of my readers are animal doctors please drop me some advice. Everyone else is welcome to donate to my Save Snickers' Sphincter Fund by paypalling me like $50 bucks or something.

4.
Lastly, I'd like to just jot a quick blurb to this girl I've had the pleasure of taking out on a few dates (she will remain nameless and faceless so to protect her from the blog-hungry vultures that feast on gossip). Ever since 1st Grade when I was kicked in the balls by a different girl (who's name was Hailey Slocker, what a bitch) I realized that I'd have plenty of run-ins with girls who could kick my ass. I'm not proud of it, I'm just really weak.

Anyway this girl is an ex-ECW wrestler chick who actually held the Championship Belt for awhile. I met her at a Wrestling Expo and we hit it off. LITERALLY! She actually hit me in the face, but it turned out awesome. Since then she's beaten me in all types of wrestling (arm, leg, ear, etc) and she's a blood thirsty pool shark. She's torn up my DDR mats while showing off her skills to me. She can eat faster, climb harder, and dance better than me by far.

Also she's real pretty and I think she's got a great new haircut. I like her a lot and I think as long as she can deal with my horrible past that we'll get along fine. I'm writing this post from the hospital because she broke my jaw when she gave me a good night kissu and I gotta say that I have never hurt so good.

***
Anyway, I'd feel like I betrayed my readers if I left off on a high note like that so I'll give you this week's Tetris Update a little early. Last night I played for about 2 hours on one game and finally broke the 999 line mark. I stopped at about 1020 lines total (lvl 103) after my hand was cramped and I became really sleepy. My score was 2,542,379 which more than doubled my last previous high score. I think I can go much longer if I just work on my hand endurance. Well on that note I'm off to read some Neal Stephenson novels and I'll hope to get a pic of the Tetris score later so I can prove it. God, that will be sad.

One is silver, one is gold, the other is pure platinum.

2006-08-05T19:04:00.000-04:00

Well my best friend just moved away today to live with his brand new wife in their nice little cottage home with white picket fences in downtown Charleston. What can I say about him? He was my first love, my first kiss, my first lay. L'sigh. I'll miss the old cunt but I'll be sure to come and visit and listen to them argue about whose money is whose. It'll be fun maybe we'll even get to spend some time together when she makes him sleep on the couch. They were partly responsible for the creation of this blog. So I owe all my e-success to them. Their blog can be found at http://duncanchronicles.blogspot.com so if you like hearing about stuffy old married couples then head there. For Dan's personal blog that Mary E. isn't supposed to know about go to http://ifucklilboiz.blogspot.com to read all about some of his favorite activities.

So, am I sad? A little bit, but I can still go over to his parents' place and mooch off all of their stuff. I realized today that with this move I'll now have more online friends than real life friends. The live-at-home-watching-anime nerd in me says, this is great! Real life relationships are such a hassle anyways. When a friend moves away they leave only their memories and the used condoms (seriously guys, ever heard of a trash can?). And I know you are going to say, "Yeah, I've heard of one. That's where I threw out all of those cummed up condoms. What the hell are you doing digging through my garbage?" That's when I'll be like, "Listen I think it's better if we just became e-friends." And you'll say, "Don't change the goddamn subject, that's my semen!"

An e-friend is like having a Portrait of that Dorian Gray guy only the portrait doesn't get all old; the friend does. I mean I can remember my friend in his prime when he wasn't getting laid and when he had these creeped out fangs and it'll never fade. Whereas real life relationships are situated in reality, these online ones are in the realm of Fantasy. And if you read two posts down you'll see why Fantasy is a whole lot sexier than reality (it's because of the robot and griffon orgy if you are too lazy to scroll down). I mean why have a warm-bodied friend when I can have a profile page with A HUGE LIST OF STATS? It's like my best friend just became a goddamn superhero with his own trading card. That's pretty rad cuz I knew him when he was just a rookie and I can probably get him to sign it. E-sign it.

"So, you two-faced bastard," you ask, "what is the other side of this coin?"

Well this coin is no ordinary coin. It's one of those State Quarters that are in so low supply that every grandma in the country is collecting them up for when they'll be worth 26 cents. The other side of this coin (the coin of friendship) is that of the perpetual e-friend. A friend who has only ever been known online which you meet in numerous cybersex chat rooms. These are what I like to call my "True Friends."

Everyone knows that the length of someone's e-penis or the depth of their virtua-vag is measured in how many online friends they have. The guy with the deepest v-vag would have to be my best e-luv J. Lust. J. Lust is like Kentucky's equivalent of that Russian band Tatu. You know those two hot underage lesbos? Well that's what he's like or so he's told me. You can read his Blog over at http://thejosephlusterreport.blogspot.com and you'll get to read all about the legend. J. tells me that when we meet finally, once I save up enough money for the hotel room and his bus ticket, that's he's going to "love me to death." I can't wait. He sounds like such a cool guy, he showed me a link to his dungeon (which is really his parents' basement) and it was rad, he had all these fake body parts lying around like the kind you get at Spencer's around Halloween so I guess he used to work in one of those places. Anyway I'm into the whole gothorror scene so I really want to meet him and just talk about life. You can read more into his personal life at http://ifuckbigboiz.blogspot.com which is his other blog.

Finally meeting an e-friend is like unmasking the ghost at the end of Scooby Doo. It's a little scary at first and you gotta be really high when you are cybering with them, but in the end they turn out to be pretty nice guys who just want to steal money from the circus or steal pirate treasure from the museum. It's great fun so I suggest posting all your personal info and going out and meeting all the e-friends you can, especially if you are one of my younger readers (like under 13) because once you get a job it'll be harder to travel out to motels during the day.

If you are a friend e- or otherwise and you want me to post a link to your blog then send me the url in an email to mattstoop@gmail.com and make sure you put Booboo Blog in the title to get it past my spam checker.

Once we are connected by blogs we'll never go out of touch and the world will be a whole lot bloggier.

Low Rider

2006-08-02T17:07:00.000-04:00

I guess I should have put a big old disclaimer before I started this blog because I think there is some general confusion amongst some of my readers. The thing is this: I am a huge Roller Coaster Enthusiast. I pay $13.75 every quarter so that I can wear the t-shirt and carry my card proudly in my fanny pack (also that 3-D video they send out is pretty rad). So some of you might be thinking, Ugh this guy is so messed up I mean did you read about that rollercoaster he was talking about. That shit is impossible! Well listen, I did my homework on it. I did all the calculations then I programmed it into that Disney Roller Coaster editor in Dos. I did that shit so that you would feel enlightened! I didn't expect some of you to lash out and say my theories were unsound. If you don't believe in the future of the coaster then you are no friend of mine.

That being said I am going to have to rethink the roller coaster theory I created in the first post in light of some of events that transpired. Ok, so pull up a gamefaqs for Brain Age and let's get ready for today's installment of Coaster Thinkin'.

What is the most undisputed fact about roller coasters? Well for those of you who don't get the newsletter let me fill you in: it is that the Japanese will try their hardest to outdo any other country when it comes to roller coasters. So imagine if you will the reaction of the Japanese when they see that China has this crazy messed up Inverted MegaChuteCenteroftheGoddamEarth Coaster. They are going to want to outdo that shit with something so insanely low and high at the same time that it'll blow the Level Zero Paradox a new butt.

So, first off this is a sit down coaster and did I mention it's a fuckin' Mobius Strip? A Mobius Strip made out of yin-yangs. You didn't know that? Well, guess you are wishing you got that newsletter. Anyways... So this coaster orbits around the earth, one of the loops goes out around the moon the other around the Earth. This thing gets going so fast that you actually split molecularly into three separate beings, you follow? Now it's all engineered so that "one of you" is going to be directly over the "other you" right at the middle of the Strip which hovers at a point 2 miles above the Earth. The "you on top" is hit in the stomach really hard and forced to take a shit which falls through a worm hole right into the face of the "you on the bottom." The "you that gets dumped on" is going to be feeling pretty low, while the "you that just got to take a dump in someone's face" is going to feel pretty awesome. This causes a warp in space and time which causes part of the ride to explode into a huge confetti ball that falls down around the "third you" on Earth. That "version of you" is going to feel pretty awesome, but then you'll realize that the confetti is polluting the environment and you'll feel pretty low.

Well my friends, that roller coaster metaphor is just like what happened to me today. I thought I had hit my lowest point ever when I decided to start a blog (likened to the Chinaman's inverted coaster). But today I just got one-upped by the Japanese so to speak. Today I reached a low so low that it is impossible for me to even fathom it.

Today I was dumped by a girl who was having a great time with me until SHE READ THE FIRST TWO POSTS ON MY BLOG AND DECIDED THAT I WAS TOO DISTURBING TO DATE ANYMORE.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

Now I'd like to add that my blog is totally serious and it's main purpose is to connect you, the reader, with the truth about how low a man can sink. I guess once people found out some of the gross things I've done in the past that it's only natural that they would want to cut off from me. Ce la Vie or some French shit. Anyway, I guess you can't ever live down something so disturbing as having accidentally brushed up against a black girl's boob. I thought I could have left that behind me in the past when I left Duke, but that bouncy ebony specter will hound me until I'm cold in the ground.

I can barely live with myself after what happened so I can honestly understand why people would find me monstrous now. I won't deny it my hand came in contact with a black-skinned tit. Ok, there I'm dealing with it. Can't you? I am dealing with it by really getting into my roller coaster hobby. It really takes my mind off some of the low shit I've done and helps me really convey myself over the blogosphere where metaphor is a golden tongue against the cruel chaos of a spider's web (the internet).

Well I haven't heard back from her yet. She dumped me via email and I replied to try and figure out just what went wrong. That's a pretty low way to dump somebody... through a cold and impersonal email. So here's my tip for the ladies: if you are going to break off your relationship with someone be the better person and do it by leaving a personal comment about it on their blog.

The Hippogryphs and the Space Bees

2006-08-01T21:31:00.000-04:00

I'm having such a wonderful time writing this blog and reading all of your amazing comments so far. I think my mood is being augmented a little by the fact that I'm currently masturbating as I type this entry (the latest ADC-Elite fansub of One Piece came out today and the camera lingered on Nami's cleavage for a few too many frames and I couldn't help myself). Anyway, as I work on my one-handed wpm score I'll relate to you my love of Blogging thus far.

To me blogging is like being on the wings of the Millenium Falcon as it speeds into hyperdrive. There is nothing in the world more on the edge of science and progress than the blog-scene. I feel that in our not too distant future the entire Galaxy will be connected together not by a sense of Universal Fraternity but by a sense of wanting to read up on each other's day-to-day lives. Thank Zod for Blogs! If I want to check up on my buddy Tremvlsztaxi-*'s livejournal about how much gas he's consumed out of a pourous ice-pod half a zillion light years away then I'll just do it. I got that thing that updates via my cell phone when my friends add new posts to their LJ's. And further more--hoo, ok, hold that thought while I finish up my jerkin' session real quick.

Damn, that was a good one, I'm feeling that Galactic Euphoria I always feel when... oooo well, hello more cum! Geez, you'd think that'd be enough but--ohhhhh ok, there goes some more. Call me Ol' Faithful haha lol... Oh god, seriously now. There is blood coming out with the semen... And what the fuck is that?

"Tremvlsztaxi-*? Is that you? What are you doing in my penis?"

Through the power of mind talk Tremvlsztaxi-* says nothing and continues to devour the penis that he's been living in, as is the customary love-making practices of his people. Life seems to be going on as usual on the planet Orgasminga.

Cut! That's a wrap, boys!

Did you like that little scene? If you are like me then your hand is down your pants and you are already stimulating whatever kind of balls you have. If you aren't ringin' one out right now then you are either from China or you're my parents or principals and you need to Stop reading my blog and butting into my life! I'm mature for my age and if you don't want to get van-burned then you'll get your noses out of my biz-nass! Anyway, what I did in the first part of today's entry is what I like to call the BATE and SWITCH method of writing Sci Fi stories. And today's new low is an old favorite of mine:

Masturbating to Science Fiction or Fantasy Novels

We've all done it. We've all done it for years. Every Scholastic SF/Fantasy book you'd buy in those catalogs were filled with half-hidden sex references that would have me whipping out my little-boy weenie and going to town in a futile attept at pleasuring myself. Why? Because no one can resist tritely written erotica that's been nestled between the cold steel buns of a Space Opera or LotR knockoff. Try to read through Ender's Game without getting hard! I double dare you.

I've been jerking off (and actually cumming) to Scifi and Fantasy novels for ten years now at least 3 times a day. That's around ELEVEN THOUSAND ejaculations. Now let's say that one sock holds about 20 ejaculations (roughly the amount of 2 and a half poops), then that means I've gone through approximately 550 socks. That's around 100 packs of new socks that I've bought at about $6.50 per pack (which would be 650 dollars) just for the clean up of my own unborn swarm. [Because I'm not some monster who will wear a sock after it's been cummed in regardless of how many wash cycles it's been through.] Thanks, authors! You really know how to make a guy buy socks.

We all know that regular erotica can go choke on a fat load for all we care. There's something about mundane sex stories set in the real world that makes my p-due go beeeeeewwoooooooop. I need to first use my suspension of disbelief to really get into a magical fantasy tale, I then have to love the characters and really care about the plot, AND THEN I want that to all come crashing down into a huge ol' sex romp between a robot and a griffon. That gets me (and America) off. Wondering if whether the sex partner you are reading about is really a robot, or maybe it's a griffon in human form, and then wondering if whether they are faking orgasm with advanced AI or with magic--that's what it takes to write good erotica.

I've masturbated to hundreds of stories in my time and don't think I'm some uptight traditionsalist who only jerks it to the classics. Just the other day I was in Calculus class and I had to go to the bathroom and wank it because this graph looked like two dudes humping. And last Christmas when the Lutheran Church performed their XXX Nativity scene I was there wiping myself up with a spare sheep hat. That's thinking outside of Schrodinger's catbox. I mean sure I've splooged over some of the greats: Tolkein, Card, Delany, heck even some of that queer Bradbury stuff. But like I said I'm a man who looks to the future. I won't be able to get off on to those dusty old tomes for too much longer once the aliens come and burn all our literature. That's why I think Blogs are the future, because they can't get dusty and their pages can't get stuck together with semen.

Duke of Yesterbeer

2006-07-31T03:17:00.000-04:00

I mentioned in my first post that I was a college drop out. Let me relate to you the sad tale of how that came to be. It may be one of the lowest points in my entire life.

I was a kid that didn't come from much. Single parent, middle income. I had enough toys to get by. Anyway, skip ahead to Senior Year of highschool, I just got a letter in the mail saying I got in to Duke University.

"Wow," I said.

And then I decided to go there. Things were going great for me: I had a lot of cool friends, I was a dedicated church goer, my grades couldn't have been better, and I was in the best shape of my life. One day I was out on the Quad doing my normal Suicide runs to work on my stamina when these guys came up to me and asked me to play them in a game of One-on-One.

I said, "Sorry, brah, I don't shoot hoops."

But then they chuckled and told me that they wanted to put me to the test in something else. A game called lacrosse. I held up the cross around my neck and said, "Dis iz tee onlee L'cross I need" in my best French accent. Well, they were rolling on the floor laughing their asses off, and when they came to they handed me a stick. Within the hour I had joined the team and they put me as first string Quarterback.

I was a phenom. I could score a goal from half court, my putting put the other teams to shame, I never once missed a catch, and when I pitched the pig skin it always ended up over the homeplate endzone. I even perfected the dreaded square knot. Life was great: My friends got a whole lot cooler, not only did I preach sermons now but I was doing the old preacher's wife, to the suprise of my professors my grades improved to a level that hadn't been invented yet, my body became harder than maplewood, and I got really really good at listing things.

Were the parties awesome? Yeah, they were... or so I thought!

I said life was a roller coaster, baby. And I meant it. I had nowhere to go now but down. I was at one of our team's nightly party in one of the Dorms and I had had a few brews. I thought it would be a good idea to impress the ladies by showing off my dance moves so I busted out the "lawnmower." You know, that dance where you pretend to pull the rip cord from one of those grass cutters? Anyway, as I was pulling my hand back I lost control of my tricep for a second and my hand flew backwards and touched... a black girl's tit.

I'll use a simile now that a lot of my sheltered video game loving readers might get. It was like I was on level 25 in Toe Jam & Earl and I was in sight of the last ship piece when I got a rocketskates. So I decide to go all the way down to level 1 and rocketskate over to the bottom left corner and drop down to Level Zero. I drink the rootbeer and burp and then I hop in the hot tub to chill out with some Hawaiian girls while my life bar refills. I reach over and accidentally bump my tentacle into the Hula Girls titty only to realize that she's actually black!

The Paradox that is Level Zero is what my Blog is all about. In one sense it is the absolute lowest level that one can go to. But also falling off of it will lead you right back to the highest level you've ever reached in the game so far. It's a precipice/black hole that only a Chinaman would dare venture into. It's the very essence of Blogitude.

Well as you can imagine my world fell apart. After having brushed my hand against the titty of the black girl my friend had just finished raping, I couldn't show my face around anymore. People were talking about it behind my back, my parents weren't talking to me at all, and the Popo's (that's black slang for police that's infected me just from that touch) kept coming to my dorm room to ask me questions. I felt awful and so I quit going to class. I just stayed in my room and ate Mickey D's (Nuts) and thought about killing myself or at least masturbating myself.

I failed all my classes except for my Hebrew class, which I got an A in because the teacher didn't want to scar her record, and I was forced to drop out. I went from King Duke of Point Scoring to That Guy Who Touched a Black Girl's Boob Ewwwwwwwwww. I'm heavily medicated now, and I've come to deal with it all by posting about it in this public blog so that you'll all either pity me or fake pity me while feeling better about yourself for only touching white or yellow tits.

Gone Fishin'

2006-07-31T01:59:00.000-04:00

Let me first start off by introducing myself. I'm Matthew, college drop-out and all around doer of low things. I like to compare my life to that of a roller coaster, a continuous track of ups and downs and loop-di-loops and whiptail-curly-zups and sticky seats that smell like kid pee. I believe the measure of a man's life can be summed up by which roller coaster he most relates to, whether he be a timid Scooby Doo Ghosta Coasta or a neck-wrenching Ninja. He may relate most to the Rockin' Roller Coaster if he's into the extreme Aerosmith-rock-a-thon lifestyle of killing 12-year-old boys. Gotcha thinkin' about those sharp corkscrew turns? Good!

Ok, so play along with me now as I try out a little thought experiment. We all know that if you dig a hole straight through the Earth, straight through Hell, then you end up in China, right? Now what if there was a coaster so X-treme that it went so far down through enough crust, magma, and damned that it ended up in the land of China (aka The Orient, aka The Borient! lol). Would that American coaster's lowest drop not also be the Chinaman's tallest incline?

Can one man's lowest point also be another man's highest?

Yes, I think so. Especially today because I've done the lowest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Something so vile that I promised myself back when I was a man of faith that I would never ever ever ever do it. I started a web log (and from here on out I'm going to stoop to using the term blog even though it makes me cringe and feel even more homosexual than I already normally do). What better way for others to feel completely better about themselves than to read about the most subhuman actions of another all under the protective blanket of internet anonymity?

What am I thinking? I'm now apart of a "blogosphere," a community of bloggers who spend their days blogging about metablogology and about which blogs they may or may not have blogged on any given day of the blogender (that's a Blogging Calender for those blognoobz). I have to get out of the mindset that I'm writing for my own personal self. This isn't my journal, dude, I've got an audience to attend to. The Blogdience.

There is a circle of life out here in the wilds of the blogosphere, a constant cycle of pity and ego stroking that lets us all feel better. For those above me in the food chain I'll be like the Inverted MegaEarthChute Drop Coaster that all the Chinamen love to ride on. All my pathetic low points that I'm going to lay out everyday will be a constant reaffirmation of their awesome blogs that talk about, I dunno, scoring with chicks or winning Yu-gi-oh tournaments. Now for the other half that are below me (well come on maybe that other tenth) on the chain, I'm gonna be this pimped-out Carney that has a sweet ass roller coaster that goes through the center of the motherfucking Earth. They're gonna want to ride on that thing. So they are going to post comments about how rad I am and how much shittier their blog-scene is. All this shit will form a giant web connecting blogger to blogger. This is where the term weblog comes from, it's Latin for a web of shit logs dangling from Zeus's asshole.

It's going to be one smelly ride that I hope you will all be able to stomach, because it will be my job to try and relate all of the low things I've stooped to in my time and when I run out of old things I'll have to start doing new things. So I'm casting my rod and I'm looking to fish up some juicy comments from all of you bloggers out there riding your shit logs (blogs) down this Splash Mountain rip-off that's going to be built next to my rad Coaster of extreme lowness (unless you're Chinese of course). That being said I have a lot of cutting and van burning to attend to now that I'm on the blog train so I will bid you all a "Good Blogight."