Yay, I'm back online!
I'm so tickled I just might pee a little.
Okay, maybe not. But I want to.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Cool Amateur Videos
Okay, so I watched this first video the other day and it led me to a few others by these guys who are making short movies on their own dime.
Really, these are better than a lot of crap Hollywood is putting together these days. There's not a whole lot for me to criticize, especially on their weapon handling. It's good stuff.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nQzs48Tt9U&feature=channel
And the sweet Modern Warfare short films.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzQMGMuD1sU&feature=channel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a08ViuvORRM&annotation_id=annotation_955791&feature=iv
I shudder to think what these guys could do with a decent budget and some resources. Hollywood would be in trouble.
Really, these are better than a lot of crap Hollywood is putting together these days. There's not a whole lot for me to criticize, especially on their weapon handling. It's good stuff.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nQzs48Tt9U&feature=channel
And the sweet Modern Warfare short films.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzQMGMuD1sU&feature=channel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a08ViuvORRM&annotation_id=annotation_955791&feature=iv
I shudder to think what these guys could do with a decent budget and some resources. Hollywood would be in trouble.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Aimless
My feet hurt. Not complaining or anything, but ouch.
My allergies are trying to start up again. I spent most of today praying I didn't have snot running down my face, and paranoid about it to the point of ridiculous. I kept blowing my nose and rubbing my nose and checking my nose. Now my nose is raw.
I deserve it.
I heard this song on the radio today. I'd never heard of Josh Thompson before, but I love this song, probably because it's unrepentant in it's redneck, militant, simple-man philosophy. Or maybe because any song that references god, guns, John Wayne, Johnny Cash and fried foods in a scant four minutes and thrity-four seconds is made of pure triumph.
Helped out a girl today. She was in a wheelchair. Skinny little redhead, maybe twenty or so. She was shoehorned into a skintight miniskirt and low-cut shirt and she had a killer rack with a light sprinkling of freckles in her cleavage. Is it wrong to think that a crippled girl is hawt? 'Cause I wanna say no...
It's well-known on the interwebz that most book, movie, and TV series fan fiction is written by women. Mostly shippers who want to write about the various romances between characters they see as their dream couples that may or may not be canonical. Well, I don't write fan fic, and I probably never would, but there is actually some surprisingly good stuff on FanFiction.net.
I've spent the last two weeks reading a crapload of Firefly fanfic, some of which is quite good. The shippers tend to love the River/Jayne relationship, which they refer to as Rayne. You know, I think I approve. Only one fella in the 'verse could handle River, and it's Jayne Cobb. At any rate, it's the only non-squicky shipping I wanna think about, since the Mal/Simon, Jayne/Simon, Inara/Jayne, and Simon/River shipping is just wrong.
Of all of the Firefly fanfic, this one is the best. Peptuck is a solid writer, and his vision for the show is dead on. Read if you're a fan.
Monster Hunter Vendetta. The sequel to the very cool Monster Hunter International, MHV is Larry Corriea's new book, just released by Baen Books. If you like monsters, mayhem, action, adventure, strange doin's, magic, and guys who make money on all of the above, these books are for you.
Larry is a local boy; a Mormon accountant and former merchant of death (machinegun-dealer and firearms instructor) turned novelist. He really is the anti-Stephanie Meyer. The only vampires that sparkle in his books are the ones that are on fire. His blog is super-fantastic as well. It's in my sidebar, for alla you who want to read some funny stuff now and again. His weekly serial, Adventures of Tom Stranger, Interdimensional Insurance Agent is most entertaining.
The English are a society of whiny girly-boys these days. Well, not all of them; some of them are Royal Marines. But the rest...
No particular reason for sayin', although I've noticed the trend. The best example I have right now is a book I read yesterday by a British author who shall remain anonymous. The book was about a sixteen year old British kid surviving a death plague that kills nearly 90% of the earth's population and leaves the survivors in an every-man-for-himself state of being. Man, I've never read such a load of wussified, dumbed-down, boring garbage. The main character in the book was a cowardly, soulless, mincing little turd with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and you could tell that the writer was writing himself into the role and that he thought this was how a person ought to be, which makes him and his book extra annoying. How do you screw up a post-apocalyptic world full of gunfights, cannibals, super-flus, civil wars, plane crashes, and busted teeth? By being a sissy-boy British author, that's how. You can't find a testicle in England anymore. I blame the Femininazi's of course.
I need to watch The Wolfman. I love the classic old Universal monsters, and I'll take the remakes as long as they're good. Not diggin' Benecio del Toro these days though, on account of his being a low down dirty Castro and Chavez-loving commie. But what else can you expect out'a Hollywood these days?
That's all I got. Back to y'all.
My allergies are trying to start up again. I spent most of today praying I didn't have snot running down my face, and paranoid about it to the point of ridiculous. I kept blowing my nose and rubbing my nose and checking my nose. Now my nose is raw.
I deserve it.
I heard this song on the radio today. I'd never heard of Josh Thompson before, but I love this song, probably because it's unrepentant in it's redneck, militant, simple-man philosophy. Or maybe because any song that references god, guns, John Wayne, Johnny Cash and fried foods in a scant four minutes and thrity-four seconds is made of pure triumph.
Helped out a girl today. She was in a wheelchair. Skinny little redhead, maybe twenty or so. She was shoehorned into a skintight miniskirt and low-cut shirt and she had a killer rack with a light sprinkling of freckles in her cleavage. Is it wrong to think that a crippled girl is hawt? 'Cause I wanna say no...
It's well-known on the interwebz that most book, movie, and TV series fan fiction is written by women. Mostly shippers who want to write about the various romances between characters they see as their dream couples that may or may not be canonical. Well, I don't write fan fic, and I probably never would, but there is actually some surprisingly good stuff on FanFiction.net.
I've spent the last two weeks reading a crapload of Firefly fanfic, some of which is quite good. The shippers tend to love the River/Jayne relationship, which they refer to as Rayne. You know, I think I approve. Only one fella in the 'verse could handle River, and it's Jayne Cobb. At any rate, it's the only non-squicky shipping I wanna think about, since the Mal/Simon, Jayne/Simon, Inara/Jayne, and Simon/River shipping is just wrong.
Of all of the Firefly fanfic, this one is the best. Peptuck is a solid writer, and his vision for the show is dead on. Read if you're a fan.
Monster Hunter Vendetta. The sequel to the very cool Monster Hunter International, MHV is Larry Corriea's new book, just released by Baen Books. If you like monsters, mayhem, action, adventure, strange doin's, magic, and guys who make money on all of the above, these books are for you.
Larry is a local boy; a Mormon accountant and former merchant of death (machinegun-dealer and firearms instructor) turned novelist. He really is the anti-Stephanie Meyer. The only vampires that sparkle in his books are the ones that are on fire. His blog is super-fantastic as well. It's in my sidebar, for alla you who want to read some funny stuff now and again. His weekly serial, Adventures of Tom Stranger, Interdimensional Insurance Agent is most entertaining.
The English are a society of whiny girly-boys these days. Well, not all of them; some of them are Royal Marines. But the rest...
No particular reason for sayin', although I've noticed the trend. The best example I have right now is a book I read yesterday by a British author who shall remain anonymous. The book was about a sixteen year old British kid surviving a death plague that kills nearly 90% of the earth's population and leaves the survivors in an every-man-for-himself state of being. Man, I've never read such a load of wussified, dumbed-down, boring garbage. The main character in the book was a cowardly, soulless, mincing little turd with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and you could tell that the writer was writing himself into the role and that he thought this was how a person ought to be, which makes him and his book extra annoying. How do you screw up a post-apocalyptic world full of gunfights, cannibals, super-flus, civil wars, plane crashes, and busted teeth? By being a sissy-boy British author, that's how. You can't find a testicle in England anymore. I blame the Femininazi's of course.
I need to watch The Wolfman. I love the classic old Universal monsters, and I'll take the remakes as long as they're good. Not diggin' Benecio del Toro these days though, on account of his being a low down dirty Castro and Chavez-loving commie. But what else can you expect out'a Hollywood these days?
That's all I got. Back to y'all.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Waliland: Land of the Free Range Ameritard
So I've been finding that working at WalMart is a lot more taxing on my patience than I ever would have thought.
I'm getting up there in years, and for every year that goes by I get a little more grouchy and intolerant of other people. You all know this. So working around the army of douchebags we call "customers" is going to make me crazy in short order.
First of all, there are the clueless ones. These are the people who can see that you are pulling a pallet behind you that weighs two-thousand pounds and has some real momentum behind it, and yet, they decide that they suddenly need to stop dead in your path. I mean, it's not as if the pallet was freakin' invisible. It's five and a half feet tall and four feet across and moving rapidly, and yet when they see that I'm bearing down on them at breakneck speed with a move-it-or-lose-it predatory grin on my face, they just stop right in front of me with the same slack-jawed, drooling expression usually seen on cows chewing on alfalfa in pastures.
You would think that a reasonable person would step out of the way and drag their ill mannered little slack-jawed clones with them, but you would be wrong.
Instead they stare; not at me, but through me. Like me and my burden aren't even there. I'm not hard to miss either. I'm nearly three feet across at the shoulders and wearing a bright yellow-green reflective vest! Hello, Earth to Clueless, move your about to be Darwin-Awarded butt!
Then, in a state of panic, I have to spin the handle on my pallet jack to slow it down and throw my weight against it to get it to stop before a lawsuit happens. I briefly try to teach them manners by hitting them with my best accusatory, reproachful glare, but they ignore me, turning their stupid heads away like those aforementioned slack-jawed cattle and slowly, oh so slowly move on, leaving me fuming and suppressing the urge to walk up behind them and punch 'em in the back of the head just for fun.
I swear, if I've ever done this kind of crap to some other poor Walmart guy in the past, I apologize a thousand times.
And second. The damned kids. Why oh why can't parents keep their little monsterous creatures under control? There's work being done here, people! If you have kids that will not behave, don't take them to Walmart after 9:00 PM. That's when the heavy gear comes out and they could get run over.
I almost ran over a kid yesterday that ran full tilt out of an isle without looking, just as I had a full pallet of dog food going full speed. I almost put my back out getting it stopped before I hit him.
And tonight; no joke, I was heading into the garden area with a full pallet of weed killer, when I see two kids, a girl and boy, jumping around on a pallet of bags, standing at least three feet off the floor. That's a major safety hazard. I don't care who you are, you don't let your kids play on pallets that are on concrete. If they fall, what's left of their brains is gonna be leaking out all over the place and I'm not cleaning it up.
So, there they were playing on a pallet of bags, when a guy that I can only describe as "watery-looking" walked up to me. Seriously, he looked watery, like he was just moist. It was weird.
So he walks up to me and says, not kidding at all, "I need you to go yell at them to get off that stuff. They won't listen to me or do what I tell them."
I stood there for a heartbeat looking at this guy's watery eyes and reddish nose. I wanted to tell him to sack up and be the dad, but that wouldn't be very good customer service, so I walked up to the kids and before I could open my mouth, I noticed what the bags were that they were sprawled all over, and my inner demon cackled in glee.
"Hey kids. You don't have to get off that if you don't want to, but you know what's in those bags right?"
"What?" The girl said it in a snotty tone and cocked her head and gave me this defiant little sneer that made me want to yell at her and cuff her upside the head. No wonder that poor guy was so at wits' end. Little bastards.
"It's poo. You're layin' in poo. Get off that stuff. Go look at the fish." I pointed down the isle where the fish are located.
"Eeew." The kids were grossed out and got off the pallet and walked away. I can't understand how they managed to have missed the smell of that crap. Bagged fertilizer still smells destinctively of poo.
Some people's kids. I'm betting that the guy was their two-weekend a month custody dad who gets to barely survive keeping his kids in line after they've spent the last two weeks being undisciplined and ignored by their mom and her thug boyfriend. At least, that was my impression, but what do I know?
So, just some brief scenes of delight from the Supercenter we love so much.
I'm gonna go stretch my back and take a hot shower and likely bathe my feet in Epsom salt, and then afterwards slap myself silly for writing such an old-man sentence as this.
Good day.
I'm getting up there in years, and for every year that goes by I get a little more grouchy and intolerant of other people. You all know this. So working around the army of douchebags we call "customers" is going to make me crazy in short order.
First of all, there are the clueless ones. These are the people who can see that you are pulling a pallet behind you that weighs two-thousand pounds and has some real momentum behind it, and yet, they decide that they suddenly need to stop dead in your path. I mean, it's not as if the pallet was freakin' invisible. It's five and a half feet tall and four feet across and moving rapidly, and yet when they see that I'm bearing down on them at breakneck speed with a move-it-or-lose-it predatory grin on my face, they just stop right in front of me with the same slack-jawed, drooling expression usually seen on cows chewing on alfalfa in pastures.
You would think that a reasonable person would step out of the way and drag their ill mannered little slack-jawed clones with them, but you would be wrong.
Instead they stare; not at me, but through me. Like me and my burden aren't even there. I'm not hard to miss either. I'm nearly three feet across at the shoulders and wearing a bright yellow-green reflective vest! Hello, Earth to Clueless, move your about to be Darwin-Awarded butt!
Then, in a state of panic, I have to spin the handle on my pallet jack to slow it down and throw my weight against it to get it to stop before a lawsuit happens. I briefly try to teach them manners by hitting them with my best accusatory, reproachful glare, but they ignore me, turning their stupid heads away like those aforementioned slack-jawed cattle and slowly, oh so slowly move on, leaving me fuming and suppressing the urge to walk up behind them and punch 'em in the back of the head just for fun.
I swear, if I've ever done this kind of crap to some other poor Walmart guy in the past, I apologize a thousand times.
And second. The damned kids. Why oh why can't parents keep their little monsterous creatures under control? There's work being done here, people! If you have kids that will not behave, don't take them to Walmart after 9:00 PM. That's when the heavy gear comes out and they could get run over.
I almost ran over a kid yesterday that ran full tilt out of an isle without looking, just as I had a full pallet of dog food going full speed. I almost put my back out getting it stopped before I hit him.
And tonight; no joke, I was heading into the garden area with a full pallet of weed killer, when I see two kids, a girl and boy, jumping around on a pallet of bags, standing at least three feet off the floor. That's a major safety hazard. I don't care who you are, you don't let your kids play on pallets that are on concrete. If they fall, what's left of their brains is gonna be leaking out all over the place and I'm not cleaning it up.
So, there they were playing on a pallet of bags, when a guy that I can only describe as "watery-looking" walked up to me. Seriously, he looked watery, like he was just moist. It was weird.
So he walks up to me and says, not kidding at all, "I need you to go yell at them to get off that stuff. They won't listen to me or do what I tell them."
I stood there for a heartbeat looking at this guy's watery eyes and reddish nose. I wanted to tell him to sack up and be the dad, but that wouldn't be very good customer service, so I walked up to the kids and before I could open my mouth, I noticed what the bags were that they were sprawled all over, and my inner demon cackled in glee.
"Hey kids. You don't have to get off that if you don't want to, but you know what's in those bags right?"
"What?" The girl said it in a snotty tone and cocked her head and gave me this defiant little sneer that made me want to yell at her and cuff her upside the head. No wonder that poor guy was so at wits' end. Little bastards.
"It's poo. You're layin' in poo. Get off that stuff. Go look at the fish." I pointed down the isle where the fish are located.
"Eeew." The kids were grossed out and got off the pallet and walked away. I can't understand how they managed to have missed the smell of that crap. Bagged fertilizer still smells destinctively of poo.
Some people's kids. I'm betting that the guy was their two-weekend a month custody dad who gets to barely survive keeping his kids in line after they've spent the last two weeks being undisciplined and ignored by their mom and her thug boyfriend. At least, that was my impression, but what do I know?
So, just some brief scenes of delight from the Supercenter we love so much.
I'm gonna go stretch my back and take a hot shower and likely bathe my feet in Epsom salt, and then afterwards slap myself silly for writing such an old-man sentence as this.
Good day.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
You Thought You Loved Jayne Casey Before
So first of all, you have to read this article.
http://bighollywood.breitbart.com/abaldwin/2009/11/30/climategate-good-news-world-a-crisis-of-faith-is-ended/#more-270386
Go ahead, I'll wait.
It's a very good article about the dangers of that annoying religion known as radical enviro-fascism. Thoughtful, entertaining, and above all, right on the money.
But look who authored it.
That's right. Adam Freakin' Baldwin, that's who. Jayne Cobb. John Casey. The Animal Mother himself.
Looks like he might be putting a lot of himself into his role on Chuck as the very Republican, Reagan-loving, gunslinging John Casey, and that's just awesome.
Even more interesting is the fact that he's got a regular voice in New Media Blog-King Andrew Breitbart's Big Hollywood website, where he routinely dresses down the overly collectivist Old Media culture assassins for their underhanded role in ruining our society from within.
Pretty cool of him, I think.
It's nice to know there are a few actors in Hollyweird that reject the granola-fed, nutless, whiny, mincing, Politically Correct leftist dogma that California Progressives keep shoving down our throats.
http://bighollywood.breitbart.com/abaldwin/2009/11/30/climategate-good-news-world-a-crisis-of-faith-is-ended/#more-270386
Go ahead, I'll wait.
It's a very good article about the dangers of that annoying religion known as radical enviro-fascism. Thoughtful, entertaining, and above all, right on the money.
But look who authored it.
That's right. Adam Freakin' Baldwin, that's who. Jayne Cobb. John Casey. The Animal Mother himself.
Looks like he might be putting a lot of himself into his role on Chuck as the very Republican, Reagan-loving, gunslinging John Casey, and that's just awesome.
Even more interesting is the fact that he's got a regular voice in New Media Blog-King Andrew Breitbart's Big Hollywood website, where he routinely dresses down the overly collectivist Old Media culture assassins for their underhanded role in ruining our society from within.
Pretty cool of him, I think.
It's nice to know there are a few actors in Hollyweird that reject the granola-fed, nutless, whiny, mincing, Politically Correct leftist dogma that California Progressives keep shoving down our throats.
Monday, February 22, 2010
This Makes Me Feel All Creepy
He enters at 0:15 and stay tuned for his mind-searing laugh at 1:55.
Outstanding.
And is it just me or does he look like a living ventriloquist dummy?
Outstanding.
And is it just me or does he look like a living ventriloquist dummy?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Best Headline Ever
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1242637/Gay-man-tried-poison-lesbian-neighbours-slug-pellets-legged-cat-feud-walks-free.html#ixzz0eS5Zoxve
This headline makes my eyes water and my sanity leak out of my nose a bit.
I love the Brits. They never fail to amuse me.
This was the best part of the story. "It was them next door, the f******* fat lesbians, I'm glad I've poisoned them and yes it was slug pellets."
The UK gets weirder by the year, I'm telling you.
I blame the BBC. And socialism. And Simon Cowell. Not necessarily in that order.
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