Ni you Mao Bing

the most ununsed thing in the world

2007-10-21T23:05:00.000-04:00

I kick ass at using this thing. Seriously.

What can I tell you...

2006-10-26T20:42:00.000-04:00

Everyone break out the champagne bottles because the greatest thing since Hadrian's wall and the Great Wall of China just got approved. That's right, an incomplete (there are four separate sections), expensive (over 1.2 billion dollars that was kind of reserved for it) and necessary (kick those poor people to the curb bitch) wall has just been approved by El Presidente. Meanwhile, the real El Presidente in Mexico is running to the UN to tattletale on us. Don't worry, we will still try to half ass the building process, just to please those 4 or 5 idiot army-wannabe-civilians who risk their lives everyday protecting our borders, armed only with radios, binoculars and jungle army fatigues, that were probably bought on sale at Walmart. Hey, they've worked hard to keep out those poor and hungry Mexican assholes. Good thing Jesus amended the New Testament (Bush didn't go with his gut on this one) with this holy statement, "Thou shalt henceforth divert funding from divine prospects and build a large four part incomplete fence if thy neighboring countrymen, poor, hungry and destitute, sell oranges beside thy thoroughfares." World, watch out.

Supermarkets Suck

2005-10-17T23:59:00.000-04:00

What am I going to eat? You open the refrigerator like your emulating some sort of obsessive compulsive ritual. You know what's in there and your just hoping some of that good food you once had was just hiding behind something the last time you checked. Just check one more time to satisfy. You shut the door slowly, better check the pantry again. And then you find it, some old super easy food to prepare. Oh shit, I'm out of milk. You always underestimate milk's uses. Macaroni and cheese still needs real milk to prepare it. Though you remember noticing the powdered packets in the grocery store, you didn't care to spend precious money to try them. Macaroni is only a once in a while treat. Not like the "treatness" of snickers or swedish fish, but a treat that takes no amount of effort to prepare and tastes like cheesed noodles.

Forums and Band

2005-06-28T03:46:00.000-04:00

So I went on www.foofighters.com to see what people were saying about their new album on their forums. A couple people were shown to not like it, so I decided to post my own thoughts. Here is a link. Needless to say, it was pointless. It's kind of inclined me to believe that the people who haven't experienced much music and just latch on to one band, like say, the Foo Fighters, hang around the forums a lot. One dude even went as far as to say the album would probably be rated the best of the decade! Ughhh....

Saddam and his personal life...

2005-06-21T03:04:00.000-04:00

Chug gave me this link about Saddam and his personal life behind bars. Apparently, he still claims that he is the president and chows down American snack foods like Kurds. I know I would be savoring every last morsal that was given to me in that situation. He even rates U.S. presidents. What will Democrats say about his seemingly liberal biases? Will we hear some crappy radical right wing conservative AM radio jokes about how Saddam would gladly give a hand job to the American blue Jackasses. I know at least Michael Savage can't let me down on that. By the way, his book, Liberalism is a Mental Disorder, shows why Michael Savage hates having fun. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just take a gander at his weird half smile. It's like, you are trying to sell a book, and the only picture you can find to put on the cover that you like is a weird half smile that makes you look like somone is making fun of your huge shoulder pads, and your only half amused. Probably makes cute Right Wingers wish they weren't Republican so they would not feel morally wrong about having sex. Um, word. Anyhoo.

These guards also talk about how Saddam tries to give them advice. Wouldn't you cherish the advice of a person who escaped the world's strongest country at least once? Or would you pity his flap jacking because he dared to put his balls on the US chop block by talking smack? Regardless, I liked the part about the WMDs. Can you believe him? At least on this point, I think you can. Interesting, these political heads of state are.

Kit's Story Part Two

2005-06-12T21:28:00.000-04:00

The elevator was silent as it carried its passengers upwards. No one spoke because of some sort of unspoken pact of silence while traveling straight up or down. Kit glanced at his watch. He felt too tired and spent to think about ways of making organizations look snazzy. Whatever had made Kit search meticulously in college for a well paying and secure job, had somehow been forgotten. Whatever happened to the prospect of huge parties on the weekends? Kit had always liked to think that when he got more money, he would be freer to have fun. That is why one amasses money to live and be happy isn’t it? There was no time to spend it though, unless he was buying expensive lunches or trendy pens that he only used to add signatures to important documents. Shits demanded nothing less anyway.

The stainless steel doors split Kit’s reflection to expose the white walls of the cubicle grid he spent most of his adult life. As if a starter pistol had fired, Kit and a few others departed quickly from the elevator and moved in different directions, muttering greetings to fellow co-workers.

Gently, Kit put his briefcase on its die on top of his desk. Prying the leather straps free proved difficult today. Kit grimaced at the eccentricities of his own taste in material possessions. Sure, the brown shiny leather briefcase looked professional and could have been utilized by a well dressed English professor, but it wasn’t very practical.

Pulling documents out of his briefcase, Kit glanced over at Jerry’s stall. Like usual, Jerry sat looking regal in his white shirt and red tie. His hair was perfectly parted and combed, with a shiny gel gleam. The only thing that didn’t fit the image was Jerry’s eyes. They were dark red and the bags under his eyes attested for their color. Jerry took a mug off his shelf and filled it with some black coffee from his thermos that he brought every morning. The thermos never lasted Jerry till lunch.

“This coffee might as well be fucking decaf,” Jerry snorted while glaring at the contents of his mug.

“Maybe you’ve built up an immunity to it Jerry,” Kit said blandly.

“That would be the fucking day Kit.”

Jerry changed his bloodshot gaze towards Kit.

“I just found out that Sally’s pregnant.”

Kit looked up from his computer monitor which was happily displaying a login screen. He heard himself speak, but it felt like it was all scripted. Frankly, he didn’t know what to say to a man who looked dejected at the prospect of spawning his progeny. Jerry, a father. They should have sterilized him after he stole his first lunch money from the class nerd.

Kit stood up, he was done consoling Jerry. What did Jerry expect at this age? Did he think his wife was going to stay as immature as Jerry? It didn’t feel like Jerry’s wife knew her husband at all anyway. If she did, Jerry wouldn’t be worried about a kid on the way, let alone be married.

Left was as good a direction as any. He could pretend he needed a cone of water, a very unlikely receptacle for any type of liquid.

“Kit.”

Kit looked up from the cold mountain spring water in his white paper cone to see the lovely face of Lita Burns.

“Hey Lita”

“Sits is waiting for you in his office.”

Even before the word “office” was spoken, Lita had heal clicked her way right past Kit, her mind already wandering to more important matters.

Kit crushed his empty cone, tossed it at the small rectangular trash can and grimaced as the newly made paper ball banked of the front rim and onto the floor.

The secretary picked up the grey phone next to her desk as Kit walked by her. Kit didn’t knock. Shits must have just put his phone down as he was already attentive when Kit stepped in his office. He raised his right hand, palm open, towards one of the two small chairs in front of his huge mahogany desk. If Ebenezer Scrooge were alive in modern society, he would own the huge antique sofa-like desk chair that loomed over Mr. Shit’s average sized torso.

Mr. Shits began to pick up the grey phone while offering tea and biscuits, but Kit politely refused, leaving Mr. Shits to awkwardly put the phone back in its resting place.

“I have an offer for you Mr. Wayland, and I’m quite sure that I’ll not have to wait long for an answer.”

Mr. Shits smiled showing his white crooked front teeth. He already seemed bored with the conversation.

“Some important matters have recently come to my attention. I know that I do not have to explain them to you, which is part of the reason the board and I have chosen you for this future position. It seems that there will be an opening for you in the near future in a position that will give you great control of the company. Your work and vigor has made the company proud Mr. Wayland, and it is time to repay you, handsomely.”

Kit held his breath, keeping his eyes latched to the wandering flutters of Mr. Shit’s ocular cavities.

“What say you Mr. Wayland?” The oak chair angled backwards as Shits shifted his weight and crossed his legs.

After a couple of years doing dirty work for the company and being well versed in impromptu speeches, Kit was surprised to hear only the words, “Sure, I’d like that,” before he was rushed out of the office by Shit’s secretary who had come out of nowhere.

The day lurched by without any disturbances. It was almost fluid, as if time had given Kit’s spatial reality a break. It wasn’t long before Kit took a last glance at the clock on his computer screen and proceeded to save his work before logging off.

Sleep cam easily this night. Maybe his promotion would be enough to change the daily grind that Kit learned to rely on. This was life, stability in everything. This was what he built his whole life for, learning manners, work ethics and finally, education. College taught him the most. All those extracurricular class such as biology, chemistry and even the history of the bubonic plague were aimed at granting Kit an all around education. It wasn’t that college needed to weed out the learners from the non-learners, it was finding out if you could work hard enough to get what you wanted. Sure, colleges wanted more money, and forcing bullshit classes upon every student was a clever way to achieve that and more, but Kit knew what these prerequisites were trying to achieve. Are you strong enough to excel in work you absolutely hate doing? It wasn’t a guideline, but Kit could feel the message in this advisor, professors, class mates and job recruiters.

“…is a wonderful day outside. We got only partly cloudy skies and a little rainfall to cool us off this evening…”

Kit opened his eyes, trying not to think about the crackling tones of his alarm clock radio.

“…so get your sunglasses on and be ready to sweat with your fellow New Yorkers while traveling to your place of destination. From all of us at…”

Kit plunged finger down on the off button and forced his feet to the floor. He smudged his face up with his hands, trying to fight off the biological crust that forms on human faces while they slumbered. Something was wrong. It was too bright in his room and his lights were off. Kit was late.

Jumping up over his bed, Kit turned on the shower and hastily made preparations for his trek to work.

He was sweating profusely as he entered the elevator. Would he get reprimanded for being late on the first day of his promotion? Was it his first day at that? His body wouldn’t stop jittering as the elevator made its way up, more silently then he had ever known.

His footsteps seemed louder then usual as he caught site of his white cubicle. Kit stopped and stared. His cubicle was empty.

“Hey Kit!”

Kit didn’t turn or acknowledge Jerry’s presence.

“Congratulations man! How you pulled co-CEO is beyond my belief. Don’t forget us scum in the cubicles now.”

Kit walked. He knew where he was going. Something had seemed wrong in Shits voice when he had mentioned a promotion. But was it that bad that he might need it more? Did he need it more?

The door he opened said, “Kit Wayland”. A young woman was typing away at a computer. She was beautiful and looked young enough to still be in high school. Her blonde hair was elegantly sculpted and streaked with red strands of hair. She looked up at Kit and smiled.

“I’m Lucy Mandarb, your secretary. I hope you are having a good morning. There are some messages on your desk.” Lucy picked up a small notepad. “Also, a Lita Burns has called several times to confirm a dinner date with you.”

Kit raised his eyebrows at the thought of Lita wanting a dinner date. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

“Thank you Lucy. It was nice meeting you.”

Kit stopped pushing the handle of his office door and took a deep breath. His parents would be proud of him. How he held the winning lottery ticket was still unknown to him. A pleasant surprise nonetheless. In his office, he looked out his window to see a busy street jam packed with cars. Sleek black luxury vehicles and SUVs dotted the yellow mass of taxis. A traffic jam looked like a slow moving painting from his window.

“Mr. Wayland, it is good to see you have finally found your new office. I have made preparations to brief you on certain information for you new position. You must know that we cannot feasibly change our company name to include our new status, but I’m sure you understand.”

People lined the sidewalks. It was like looking at the turning of a kaleidoscope. A pulsing organism of people.

“I’m pleased to have you by my side Mr. Wayland. We have watched you closely and believe you will represent the company well. Well, Mr. Wayland?”

Shits grinned at the back of Kit’s head. Kit could feel the man’s presence demanding attention.

So many people in one little nook of the world. Walking with purpose. Passing each other without a second glance. Doctors passing construction workers, teachers passing the uneducated. Each immersed in their own reality, there own lives being etched out one second at a time. Kit knew that life didn’t streak across the sky like lightning, but was slowly forged, with car and time. Kit began to turn around, but something caught his eye right below his window which was exactly above the entrance doors of the building. A man was detached from the flowing vein of the sidewalk bustle. He was waving his arms around between bursts of trying to get by Jimmy, the buildings door man. Jimmy wasn’t being rough with the odd man, but gently turned him around and calmed him for a few seconds. But the man with a tie flapping at the nape of his neck would whirl back around in frantic gestures, trying to move his way into the building. Kit finally finished his revolution to face Shits, took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Time would tell.

Med. Marijuana

2005-06-09T16:28:00.000-04:00

What the hell is going on with our government? Instead of focusing on issues that really matter, the American public is yet again thrown into some fantastical crusade against this extremely evil drug. What is even more amazing, to me at least, is that there are medical researches and reports that could fill your house stating that marijuana is a great aid for so many health conditions. Now, it is correct that marijuana can get you high or alter brain states, but so does a prescription of the legal form of heroin. Regardless of the marijuana hype and taboo by those who see the world only through the subjective eyes of strict stubborn morality, marijuana is not deadly or a contributing factor to the dregs of society. Furthermore, I don't even want to see this in the paper again:

"The Drug Enforcement Agency began raids in 2001 against patients using the drug and their caregivers in California, one of 11 states that legalized the use of marijuana for patients under a doctor's care. Among those arrested was Angel Raich, who has brain cancer, and Diane Monson, who grew cannabis in her garden to help alleviate chronic back pain."

Who the hell arrests a guy with brain cancer!? Oh yeah, we are working under the states moral imperative and must save this man who is going to die shortly, by taking away something that has evidently brought at least some semblance of peace to his rapidly dwindling time on this world. Thinking about federal officers handcuffing that guy and taking him away to jail or a wherever they held him just makes me sick. Is this what Jesus would do? Your god fearing justices on the Supreme Court seem to think this is the correct action. Replublicans and Democrats make me sick. In fact, Washington D.C. needs some help from some grassroots politicans who don't have much to lose. The American public, whether they like it or not, needs to hear from some politicians who don't give a shit about which way they part their hair on television appearences. Seriously, when I hear that a person can't run under a noble political agenda (such as this topic) because it would be political suicide, I want to vomit. Poor America.

Kit's Story Part One

2005-04-24T13:03:00.000-04:00

The Story of Kit

Part One

A whole lot of snot in your nose is not a good thing for the future cleanliness of ones throat. Despite your precarious notions, snot does an awful lot of good to society rather than busting your voice up or taking airfare to one of the palms of your hands. The latter is always an embarrassing moment.
"Fuck mee!"
Rarely does a person think of the word "me" with two "e"s, but opening the shelter of your hands only to avert ones eyes so as not to attract attention to the gooey white, yellow and perhaps green mucus might make two "e"s seem normal behind the letter "m".
Kind of makes one wonder though. Does everybody swear in their minds? Do you think ordained ministers and priests think the words "fuck", or the more promiscuous, "cunt"? Might be a good topic over a couple glasses of filling alcohol products, but alas, this is the part of the introduction where a character and maybe a hint of the plot to come is shown.
His name is Kit. Sometimes its hard to mediate to the reader the most important qualities of a fictional character. Some may believe the first descriptive adjectives, nouns or verbs are the most important. You know, like a college essay where everything is sequential and orderly. I will follow that though, I just thought you, being the reader, would appreciate the honesty.
Kit swore in his thoughts. Yes, it is true. Not an ordained priests though, if you thought my above writings were foreboding or anything of that nature. No, Kit was a public relations practitioner. A fairly good one too.
Enjoying such subjects as product placement and internal relations protocols, Kit left his mark on the world by pumping up various companies that signed contracts with his P.R. firm that was aptly named Sits & Grins. You might, at first glance, believe this name to be directly correlated with some type of wondrous meaning that Kits firm wanted to portray to its clients or potential clients. The truth is that you are wrong. Well, maybe some of you might have guessed right, but I sincerely doubt it.
Very simply, Arnot Shits was a narrowed nosed Englishman who came to America as a young bright eyed lad looking for money. It wasn't that England was impoverished or unfair in its economical ways, which I suppose is the major reason there are immigrants, the truth is quite the contrary. For many years and even centuries, England has been a quaint little country, except for its imperialistic era, which has been long gone, that has been very kind to its people, much like America. But Mr. Shits, pronounced Sits because the "h" is pronounced connected more so to the enunciation of the "i" then in cahoots with the "s", wanted something more than England had to provide.
After the first Iraq War, the young Arnot Shits was boldly impressed by Americas striking invention and expansion of the capitalistic advertising market that drove the U.S. economy. America, being more bold in extracting money from its citizens and placing obtrusive advertisements everywhere, flirted with young Shits until he moved to America where his meticulous attention to good business would be more greatly appreciated.
Seymour Grins, Mr. Shits partner is another story entirely. Born with an extra 21st chromosome, Mr. Grins was noticeably affected with Down Syndrome. Though, this is not a tale of overcoming ones physical illnesses or afflictions, Grins was, for the record, seriously mentally handicapped. But his physical deficiencies did not deter Grins from being a gentle and smiling individual. He had a lot to smile about anyway. Grins had inherited a large fortune after his mother and father, who were extremely wealthy business people, died in a very likely shark frenzy off the coast of South Africa where they were trying to set a love making record in front of an audience of Great White sharks. Scuba breathing apparatuses and Mrs. Grins monthly flow of, well you know, which was unrestricted by a compacted cotton wade with a string, having been replaced with something bigger and more organic, the sharks decided that the world record should stay unbroken. It is my opinion that sharks, particularly Great White ones, don't have the same knack for reading the flourishes of feats humans have accomplished. Regardless, the Grins were good parents and loved their only son dearly.
Never to let loose ends untied, Mr. and Mrs. Grins wrote a complete and comprehensive Last Will and Testament that gave most of their wealth to their mentally challenged son Seymour. Being Buddhists, Mr. and Mrs. Grins felt the resonances of a cosmic chuckle throughout their life experiences. As they had a young bull headed Englishman as their successor in their company, who seemed to fight the life out of himself and only cared for the numbers on his bank statement, felt it necessary to increase their karma by naturally trying to increase the weird accented mans karma as well. So, the company was left to the young Englishman, but with the stipulation that the Grins young son would be Co-CEO.
So it was that the P.R. firm became Sits & Grins, the "h" being left out for obvious ostentatiousness, and also where our young character Kit comes in. End of introduction.
Meanwhile, while all this introducing was going on, Kit sat in his milky white walled cubicle scratching at a patch of small bristly hair that had escaped his razor this morning. Frankly, the small rogue scruff bothered Kit. It did not bother him because it might attract notice to his rushed morning activities on this day, but irked Kit because in states of contemplation such as this moment, Kit was rather fond of running his hand over a smooth face. With a grimace and an adjusting of his hands, he was back to typing the press release for Sits & Grins new client, the Las Vegas Lakers.
It was not long ago that the L.A. Lakers had won many a title, but now, with the L.A. Clippers grabbing much of the fans and even wealth of the City of Angels, the owners believed it was time to find a new source of money. Even Jack Nicholas had gravitated from wearing weird colored glasses at Lakers games, to doing much of the same thing at Clippers games.
The move was logical in the minds of the owners. Not only would a new fan based be taped, but the owners had worked out a deal with the NBA and the city of Las Vegas that would allow gambling in the new stadium. Needless to say, many players showed much interest in joining the new venture strictly for the projected salary of the players, which would even make Tiger Woods think about switching sports.
Kit glanced again at the write up that was given to him by the owners of the Lakers. Most companies usually gave some type of a bio enclosed with facts and projections that would help P.R. firms create a press release. Usually these documents would look professional and decently written so that snippets might even be extracted to be put directly in the press release. Not so with the owners of the Lakers. They knew the stigma surrounding Sits & Grins and attached a damning note with their usual bio and fact sheet. The note read:
"You,
We paid a shit load of money to your firm, he who will write our stuff, now make shit up and make the public like us. No rules, just make us look like some damn charity for our new town, or get fucked.
That is all."
From a literal standpoint, "get fucked" might be read in a positive light, but the nonchalant and informal ardor of the line made Kit sweat. Not only was he dealing with a well paying new client, but a client that was now imbedded in Las Vegas. Who knew the power of a multimillion dollar owner of a basketball team once he joined the likes of a town of multimillion dollar people who created their bank roll by taking peoples money? The stakes had always been in their favor, and that certainly was the case in this instant.
The truth now, as Kit saw it was that Las Vegas needed an honest sports team in their midst. It would be a new attraction and would solidify the Las Vegas city as an eclectic city,instead of a city of gambling and prostitution. More tourism and residency, that sort of drivel went into Kits press release.
Stretching, Kit moved his chair back and admired his work. He was good at what he did and Arnot Shits knew it. This was why he had been given the client. It was no secret to Kit that he was chosen for the job because he hated watching sports. Kit was a liberal arts guy, preferring a good book to the tube. A man who was precisely aware that his creativity would correlate with the L.V. Lakers new P.R. campaign. He might even get a raise out of it and buy a new sports car. But with the way Mr. Shits handled his employees payroll, he knew he would have to settle for keeping in Mr. Shits good graces. That much was okay with Kit, but he hoped that in the future, his continuous list of good deeds would not go unnoticed.
Reclining in his chair, Kit folded his hands behind his head and crossed his right leg over his left leg. He closed his eyes and thought of younger days. College days, where concern only centered around class itself. An unwavering demand of debauchery and consumption of alcohol and marijuana had left Kit sorry to leave the liberal atmosphere of college. Now, all that was left was fraternizing with other public relation practitioners, playing squash and golf and being entertained in family households. Kit hated these excursions. Mostly, because he had nothing in common with the Shits and Grins company family man and neither did its owner Arnot Shits. Kit hated the similarity. But at 25, Kit had thought about marriage and kids like any person, but dreaded the day he would have to trade what freedoms he had left to a life of responsibility. That and he hadn't had a girlfriend in a long time. He had been in love before, but he found himself not understanding love. Too scared to admit defeat, too scared to work through new things, that was Kits motto. He was just riding the snake, in a very different way then Morrison intended. Regardless, something was needed to fill Kits glass which was either half empty or still being filled.
As if an answer to his call, the faint clicks of high heels were heard fast approaching down his lane of cubicles. Kit straightened in his chair and began studying his computer screen with a look of perplexity. This type of action was necessary to show his lack of interest to the approaching high heel wearer. Kits ears were perked though. His focus was on calculating the volume of the high heal clicks and weighing the Doppler effect against probable distances. A technique perfected by a college buddy who spent many an hour as a library voyeur between studying.
Just outside of his cubicle, the sound of high heels stopped and he heard the woman's melodic voice.
"Jerry, you left these papers in my office."
A faint smile crept across Kits face at the mention of an office. Lita Burns had a cubicle that was identical to Kits.
"You didn't look at them did you?" A wary voice spoke.
"No, I don't care about your god damn S.T.D. tests. Now take them."
"Better to be safe then sorry Lita, this birds all clean anyway."
"I'm sure your wife will swoon over the good news Jerry."
Lita flicked the strand of hair from the front of her face behind her ear. No matter how long that piece of "bang" was, it always remained part of the rebellious untied group of hair that was constantly trying to get in her face. With a turn of heels, Lita briskly walked back the way she had come, high heels clicking her presence.
For a split second, Kit was exposed in his devious voyeurism as Litas firm round ass moved to be replaced by the smirking face of Jerry. Kit looked back at his computer, fretting the masculine monologue he knew would come.
"Sweet ass huh?" Jerry crooned. Kit sighed.
"I wish I had your angle Kit," Jerry laughed and wheeled his chair closer to the cubicle lane to watch for potential listeners. With the carefulness of Jerry's toned down voice and constant glances left and right, you'd think that Jerry had firm beliefs that cubicles to either side were sound proof. Jerry was an idiot anyway.
"That much of a woman might break me in bed. If I ever fucked that feisty vixen, I'm sure that my ass would hurt from the leather whip she keeps in her taco. Hell, I might even walk like a fag for a couple of days," Jerry laughed again, but Kit had a feeling that the local cubicle community were grimacing with distaste as he was.
"you're a genius Jerry," Kits sarcastic tone would not register to Jerry's "witty beacon", because such a beacon did not exist in Jerry's head.
"A genius huh?" A slow and formally accented voice spoke. "I'll be sure to bring that up at my next meeting with the better half of the company."
Jerry averted his eyes and slinked his chair back into his cubicle. Evidently, Jerry had not kept good watch because next to him, Arnot Shits stood with hands clasped behind his back in the image of an English lord. His hair was long and seemed to be slicked back with a whole tube of gel. Mr. Shits always reminded Kit of the main character of American Psycho, except Shits seemed to be way more eccentric, if that was possible.
With Jerry frantically trying to pop up some kind of work on his computer, Shits turned his deep crystal clear blue eyes on Kit. His stare always crept Kit out. It was as though Shits was looking at a race horse, seeing if there was anything to win from the acquisition and for how long.
"Mr. Wayland, how fairs our new sports team?"
Kit took the opportunity to compose himself by turning his monitor towards Shits.
"It's finished, if you would like to proof read it."
"That is unnecessary Mr. Wayland, hand it in to my secretary as soon as possible."
A blatant lie that always irked Kit. It was generally well known that Shits always kept a close eye on all his assets. The document would be read and edited accordingly by Mr. Shits himself. No one was to be trusted by Shits. But the illusion of trust impressed by Shits was a management technique for closer employee relationships that Mr. Shits had learned from other CEOs dealing with their creative faction of the company. Mr.Shits was full of them anyhow, having no life, but the life of the office.
Suddenly, running feet were heard through the grid of cubicles. Shits immediately looked like he lost his penis in a bet.
"Here the git comes," Shits breathed heavily.
A thick bodied middle-aged man came into view with a green Goofy tie tied around the top of his head like Rambo. Half stumbling and the other half running, like his surroundings were a playground instead of an office, Seymour Grin's caught sight of Shits and immediately adjusted the direction of his stumbling run.
"Shits! Shiiiits! Shiiiiiiiiitssss!" Grins, with eyes glittering and a quirky smile on his face, almost ran into Jerry's cubicle before fully stopping himself.
Shits groaned audibly as Grins began to dance. Uncoordinated as he was, Grins did a fair job at copying some of Michael Jackson's moves only failing miserably at the fabled moon walk.
"Shits!" Grins yelled the name loudly. He was the only person Kit ever met that pronounced Arnot Shits name exactly like the excrement.
Grins finished his flourish of spinning on the balls of his feet. With ass facing Shits, like so many times before, Grins ceremoniously grabbed handfuls of his two butt cheeks and excitedly declared, "Shits in my Paaaaants!"
A moment of silence was always the effect of Grins childlike antics. Shits stood, appalled at the site of a grown mans ass in front of him in a multimillion dollar corporation that he ran. There was no movement from Grins. He seemed to be waiting for his dance to sink in. Kit stole a small grin at the situation.
Abruptly, as if just realizing that he was staring openly at Grins plump rear end, Shits turned and walked away, past Grins and down the white cubicle lined aisle.
With a laugh, Grins straightened himself and turned towards Kit. Grins' straight cut hair parted perfectly in the Republican fashion looked awkward with the tie tied around his head just below his forehead hairline. Strange that he wore a black Armani suit with a matching black tie. Most days, he usually felt that the addition of the Goofy tie around his head was necessary to complete his formal attire. But on Fridays, it was usually a TGIF tie. His parents had insisted that he wear that around his head and had always dressed him in a nice suit with the extra tie around his neck for added fun. Grins collected funny ties. A fitting hobby for a simple man brought up in cubicle aisles and his own office that was remodeled, when Grins was young, as a McDonald's playground. Some of the plastic balls from the pool of balls below Grins small covered slide often made it into the city of cubicles on the floor of his playground office. Kit had kept one on his desk for decoration. Grins had thrown one at his head one day after he challenged his floor to a dodge ball tournament. No one had thrown a ball back at Grins. Instead, they let him zing balls in their cubicles for a better part of an hour. Sheep to the bitter end.
"Watcha doin?" Grins asked Kit with a beaming smile on his face.
Kit shrugged.
"Looking for man eating aliens on distant planets," Kit said in a matter-of-fact voice.
Grins face did not change as he turned towards Jerry.
"Watcha doin?" Jerry moved uncomfortably in his chair.
"I'm...uh....revising a fact sheet for a client in response to an addition of assets our client has acquired."
"you'ree boring mister," Grins looked away from Jerry with a queer frown.
Kit could hear Jerry swear under his breath. Like Grins was going to snap out of his biological crutches, take the tie of his head and immediately fire Jerry, making sure no P.R. firm in the world hired him again.
Kit met Grins stare with a quizzical smile. Grins lifted his hand and pointed to the red ball on Kits desk.
"You wanna play...dodge ball later?" Grins asked.
"Sure, whenever you want."
"Okay," Grins shook his head.
And with that, Grins ran down the hallway with amazing velocity. Weaving in and out of people carrying large stacks of paper and a mail cart that almost didn't get out of the way, Grins made his way out of the clattering of typing and shrill cries of telephones that Kit inhabited seven and a half hours a day.
Jerry said nothing about the odd occurrences that had just taken place. It wasn't that Jerry did not take great pleasure talking shit behind peoples backs, it was simply an obvious point not to comment about, in Jerry's words, "that poor tard".
Kit frowned at the clock. Two more hours until he could make his way home. He turned his chair to face his computer monitor and hoped there would be a surprise game of dodge ball today.

This guy is weird

2005-04-17T03:52:00.000-04:00

Shel Silverstein. What a weird dude. His new book is everywhere at work. I remember really enjoying "Where the Sidewalk Ends" when I was a kid. He's got a new book out now though, and it's pretty much everywhere in the store. So, being the curious person I am, I picked one up to check it out and saw his picture. What a very weird guy. He looked like some kind of serious dramatic thespian.
I mean, art is awesome. Far be it from me to make fun of a dude who I think is pretty cool. He doesn't give interviews and abhors publicity stunts and the like. Sounds like a true rocker. THe only thing is, the majority of his audience are kids. Maybe it's good for them to see a weird, serious face looking dude staring at them on the back cover. Who knows. If Johnny Cash likes him and plays one of the songs Silverstein wrote, then I guess he can do whatever the funk he wants. But seriously, there is a time and a place for goofy artistic photos.

Famous for the wrong reasons...

2005-04-17T01:37:00.000-04:00

Today’s society has grown into a hubbub of TV, radio and other mass media oriented hysteria. Be afraid of this, oh my God@, look over here. Now watch a message from our sponsors who love that you watch this mindless drivel that pleases the socially unimportant and totally moot points that appear in our great civilization. You’d think America would be efficient enough to work around these issues that somehow divide society and create radicals on both sides wasting time and resources defending or supporting this crap. I guess mass media is really only objective in its telling of the story (if that), but has its reasons to broadcast. Like this Shriver lady who is obviously a vegetable and has been for almost 15 years. Are we really humane keeping someone alive for that long whilst feeding her through a tube? All the joys of life are gone for her. I ate liquids for 6 weeks and I felt like I wanted to die while recovering from jaw surgery. That lady would NEVER recover. In fact, I remember a very dramatic war book (the title escapes my memory) where a man loses his legs, arms and face (including mouth, eyes, nose and ears) in a bomb explosion in the trenches of WWI. He was kept alive only to live a life of solitude in some military hospital. Fully conscious. A Testament to technology, human fragility and radical ethics. And we are upset about this whole veggie thing, worked up about it enough to have Bush, who executed Retards, to try and save this poor woman. A political and media frenzy nightmare. I guess the media and political figures know to well how us Americans like action packed updates on anything as ethically trivial as this fiasco. But I will sit here and critique the sequels to come. I love and despise knowing the simplistic minds of greater America. True, it may be that this type of case has never come to popular attention, and we needed to inherit this course of action into our democratic system. But it seems our system is screwed up as the 3 powers of our nation have shown. So, in the town that made Jerry Springer mayor, I sit and bang my head against the wall at the ever popular irony.

John's Story

2005-04-11T23:33:00.000-04:00

The lights glared as John followed his ghost-like teacher through another doorway. The air seemed to lift with every step and push him forward. John wasn’t nervous about his surreal surroundings or the fact that he was stark naked. He knew from somewhere deep inside that this wasn’t real.

The teacher stopped and turned toward John, motioning for him to come closer. Without hesitation, John obeyed.

The beach looked dirty and tainted. Beer cans floated on the small waves that meekly crashed down on dead seaweed that lay strewn on the beach. The white sand created a stark contrast between the multicolored objects that sat on top of it.

Standing as if he owned the place, a fat pungent man in a Speedo was smoking a cigar while sipping on a glass bottle of beer. The man stopped his long draw on the cigar and turned towards John. His dirty rodeo clown makeup seemed to have been unwashed for days. His brown, crooked teeth grinned.

“John,” the odd placed clown said. Stomach fat seemed to ooze and bubble over his small Speedo. ‘Your life sucks cock.”

Whirling and sliding, as a tsunami of waves crashed through John’s ethereal body. He couldn’t cry for help because a mouthful of water would come uninvited into his lungs. In an instant, the chaos shattered as a psychic veil was lifted from somewhere behind John’s eyes. Blue, black, red, green, yellow and some purple colors swirled to the tune of a soft voice.

“So this is why Leibniz’s theory of sufficient reason dictates morality. Does anyone have any questions?”

John sat up and straightened his back and pulled back his shoulders like one of his jock friends had told him to do when he was in high school. His mother always told him his slouching would give him a crooked back.

He wiped his mouth where he knew there was bound to be at least one drop of spittle. Like most other people, John was most certainly not a closet “drooler”. Having carried a variety of medical appliances in his mouth since he was 8, it was hard to adjust to the supposed normal mouth that had defied his anatomy from childhood. Although he couldn’t hide his problem, he took solace in the fact that he was better off than his brother who would never be able to talk normal. His new normal mouth would never sound clearer than a porn star with a huge testicle in her mouth. Dentists and orthodontists a-like are money grubbing perfectionist bastards.

The clock. He had forgotten about the heavenly bells that rang through his head when the clock ticked to his favor. 1:10. Which meant five more minutes of ancient philosophy he was semi-interested in, and then he could resume his procrastinating nature.

Like most people in America, John believed he was raised by the middle class of mediocrity. There is something that says, “You fucking normal biatch” when using the phrase “middle class” to describe your financial situation and habitat. But John had found that his childhood dreams often revolved around crappy jobs with crappy pay. His grandmother had sat him on her lap and decreed John to be a future lawyer. Not to be outdone by the cheek pinching opposition, John’s other grandmother hypothesized little John to be a genius of the medical world. In fact, this grandma, had almost pegged little John’s future aspirations correctly. John did want to help people, and sincerely would like to make the world a better place, but being a doctor had a single solitary problem. It wasn’t the fact that John had to memorize millions of little body parts, diseases and prescriptions. Realistic or not, little John would have loved to say he would do this whole heartedly, but future John would have let him down. No, the problem was this: too little driving. Yeah, John wanted to help people, but rather in a way that consisted of an elaborate technology that opened a folding door and was able to transport mass quantities of kids to get inundated with education when all they wanted to do was go to recess. His parents had laughed when he told a crowd at his preschool graduation what he wanted to do with his degree. There might have been more laughter had the girl who went before him used her degree for some real job instead of somehow using it to morph into a bunny rabbit. But after much T.V., and the advent of reading, which John did a lot of, he decided that bus driving was not a good idea for a dreamer.

Instead, John went to where most dreamers end up, or try to end up. College. What a wonderful representation for the many ideas and symbolism we attribute to this phonetic uttering. It almost sounds smart and scientific. It doesn’t sound so plan and simple as middle school or high school, though elementary school has some kind of cool ring to it.

He literally felt the life being sucked out of him as he spent five minutes of staring at the blackboard and thinking of how he dreaded the reoccurrence of this hour and a fifteen minutes of hum-drum in two days. Abruptly, he was on his feet. His notes flew into his book bag like a fly through a cracked window. He stretched his arms out, which cracked his back and relieved the tension of slouching for an hour. Slowly he followed the hoard of people crowding around the exiting of the door. John always thought it was so ironic that a group of “elite” college students could exit a classroom like a lethargic herd of pasture cows being locked up for the night.

Almost out the door, John’s hands trembled like a heroin addict. His hands had already enveloped a proportional space of air that in 10 minutes would be the not-so-living space of an XBOX controller.

At least in video games, John’s underachieving nature could save the world without getting off his ass. With a little coordination and superior thumb stamina, John could carry out his fake heroism all day and most the night. Except, the immaterial world projected through pixels and silicon was not appreciative enough to offer money for his valor.

The sun shining overhead made John feel like a hermit emerging from his hermitage. John’s step quickened, weaving his way through the mass of students as the university buildings got a good view of John’s ass. The last class of the day always gave him more energy. Music blaring through his head phones, John smiled.

A whole lot of Blah

2005-03-31T01:32:00.000-05:00

The titillating facts of weblogs are quite boring, which in this case, is the reason why I have not updated this cursed site in many a month. Stories, friendly jests, philosophical and political rants have all been thought of and thrown out. The fact is, it’s not interesting unless it’s good. Like that piece on Chug below, pretty good. Could of done a shit ton better, but when you want the effect, you got to put the cause there first. Fools rush in, whatever you want to call it. Anything could be edited over and over. What you get in the end is the best of the worse or worst of the best…who knows? But fuck it, no really, FUCK it. I’m not going emo, neither am I going to indulge myself in my own words, I’m just going to write what I want. Be it now or later. But maybe I’ve already run amok. Hell, whatever you want to think, you’ve already read it anyway. So with the balls back behind a zipper, in the words of one of the greatest men I know. Outrix.

Product Placement and Such....

2004-12-31T20:12:00.000-05:00

Surviving a plane crash, but hopelessly stranded on an island, Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks) considers using the clothes and shoes of a dead man before breaking protocol and illegally opening FedEx packages to find tools for survival. With the use of FedEx and a silent costarring appearance of a Wilson volleyball, the movie Cast Away took product placement in movies to new heights.

According to Friedman, “This strategy is part of a trend of corporations attempting to move beyond advertising and other familiar marketing strategies, to more firmly embed their brands into the culture” (“Cast Away and the contradictions,”). Although the movie Cast Away is advertising FedEx and Wilson products, the movie presents these advertisements in a way in which the audience can create its own real world identity with the reality of the movie. The audience does not just catch a glimpse of FedEx or Wilson on the big screen. Instead, the products and company logos are used to make the film more reality based.

With the creation of product placement, advertisements are being carefully imbedded into television shows and movies to produce images the consumer will find attractive. McMurdy (2002) states that, “product placement is booming because of the advent of personal video technology which allows viewers to skip over commercial messages. By making their products an organic part of the actual content, advertisers ensure their brand gets displayed” (The art of product placement). Whether or not product placement is getting the better of the scores of “channel-surfers” in this world, this unorthodox type of advertising has slowly evolved to become an effective means to grab the consumer’s attention without the use of methods such as commercials.

The movie E.T. was the first modern product placement success in terms of profit. After E.T. producers were turned down by Mars for the use M&M’s in the movie, E.T. producers asked Hershey if they could use its Reese’s Pieces product. The effects on the sales of this little known Hershey product were tremendous. “Within two weeks of the movie's premiere, Reese's Pieces sales went through the roof” (Mikkelson, 2001) and Hershey saw a 65% increase in sales of Reese’s Pieces.

All this revenue was accumulated by showing an intelligent and noble alien protagonist on the big screen eating and enjoying many a Reese’s Pieces. Following E.T.’s 1982 debut, many other movies successfully incorporated product placements into their scripts. James Bond drove a BMW Z3 in Goldeneye, Tom Cruise wore Ray-Bans in Risky Bussiness and Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan communicated via AOL in You’ve Got Mail (Beal, 2003).

In the movie Toy Story, Jay May, president of the Los Angeles-based product placement agency Feature This, stated that product placement increased sales for Etch A Sketch by 1,400 percent and Mr. Potato Head sales by 800 percent (York, 2001). Moreover, May stated that, “Slinky was out of business for 10 years. But after 20,000 phone calls from distributors and toy stores, they went back in business. They've sold $27 million since" (York, 2001).

If product placement in a computer graphic movie such as Toy Story can bring back a deceased company, how is product placement so effective? According to Cheney (1992), “presentational or pictorial symbols are often better equipped than discursive symbols for expressing sentiment because the mind is able to read them in a “flash” and preserve them in a disposition or attitude” (p. 175). While most commercials try to make their product appeal to you by logic, such as comparing a product to another product, product placement appeals to a more emotional logic.

In Cast Away, Tom Hanks’ character Chuck is a well rounded and exceptional FedEx worker who promotes timeliness and strong work ethics. Having been stranded on an island and ultimately surviving, he realistically quits his position at FedEx because his experiences have changed his world view. This is understandable to the viewer, as the viewer has followed Chuck through his near death experiences and dreadful monotony of spending four years on an uninhabited island. But in the end, Chuck finally delivers his prized FedEx package to its intended recipient, which on the island was considered a motivating factor to return to civilization. Although this sequence of events is just part of the movie, the fact that the logo for FedEx is used in Cast Away creates an emotional bond for the audience to connect to Chuck’s character. In his essay, Cast Away and the Contradictions of Product Placement, Friedman states:

For these companies, branding was not just a matter of adding value to a product. It was about thirstily soaking up cultural ideas and iconography that their brands could reflect by projecting these ideas and images back on the culture as “extensions” of their brands. Culture, in other words, would add value to their brands. (“Beyond product placement,”)

The audience identifies with Chuck’s humanization because of his characterization and the experiences he goes through. But in retrospect, FedEx profits by having its logo and its commercial values expressed through Chuck.

But the most interesting phenomenon of product placement in movies like Cast Away and E.T., is that product placement benefits both film makers and corporations. FedEx didn’t pay a single dime to have their product in the movie Cast Away. The movie was just provided with FedEx apparel, planes, trucks and other props to make the story more believable in the film makers eye (Friedman, “Beyond product placement,”). Similarly, Hershey did not have to pay any money to feature Reese’s Pieces in E.T.. The only stipend to the contract was that Hershey had to use $1 million dollars in advertisements to promote the movie. But this also meant that Hershey’s was allowed to use E.T., in correlation with Reese’s Pieces, as a means to advance their product (Mikkelson, 2001). Today’s trend of product placement of movies, according to Waisberg (2002) tells us that, “free props mean significant savings for smaller productions, 95% of actual placements cost nothing” (“Light’s,”).

As mentioned earlier, “channel-surfers” who skip over expensive advertisement slots while watching television is one of the reasons product placements are so popular. Recently, with “the advent of TiVo and other services that make it easier for viewers to edit out commercials, has forced advertisers and television producers to think of new ways to integrate products into television shows” (York, 2001). These new digital technologies that are able to blot out commercials and subscriber based media with no commercials, like XM Radio, are becoming more popular. This means that advertisers are going to have to rely on more product placement in the upcoming advertising age.

According to May, in the future of product placement, one could be watching the television show Friends and like a shirt that one of the characters has on. In the future:

Your remote is going to be like [a] cursor. You'll point the arrow on the TV and click Monica's shirt. That will pause the program, and a little window will pop up and say, 'Available at Macy's for $129.95. Click here to order it now.' It's not in place now because people need digital TV to have it work. (York, 2001)

Effective product placement can be a very positive thing for the advertisement industry. Through product placement, companies can embed a product in a television show or movie in which the culture that surrounds that product intensifies consumer sales. This does not mean that all product placements are effective. According to Kenneth (2004), “if the product placement is unnatural to both the program and the product, and ultimately to the viewer, it could be a negative…especially if it is to the degree that it may diminish a bond between the character and the audience” (You be the judge). Advertisers and producers must be aware of advertising clutter. If the authenticity of the artistry that goes into the creation of a medium for general viewers is corrupted, not only is the artistry tainted, but also the product.

Chug the future Lawyer

2004-11-28T20:29:00.000-05:00

Chug is a cynical little bitch. The greatest injustice to Chug's character is the fact that he was born a finite temporal being. After the ecstasy of childhood was forgotten (or maybe before), he began to use his precious time to invent diseases and diagnosis’s that would end his life. Unlike most hypochondriacs, Chug didn't create a clean lifestyle for himself. Instead, he let his hair grow dirtier and dirtier by the day. Ironically, the shell casing made up of grease, dead cells and a whole mess of lint from the ceiling of his car and doorways have created a hard, biologically sound helmet casing around his head area. In conclusion to scientific structure tests on his mythical fro and mini fros (located in the genital region, chest region, anal region, armpit region and both big toes), Chug decreed that diseases, especially sexually transmitted ones would not be a problem for his exoskeleton encasements. So Chug, embodying an Italian stereotype, changed his fears into cynicism. In this way, Chug hopes to dominate the social structures of society by taking the devil's advocate stance on every issue. Although the author does not wish to attack the validity of Chug's arguments, he just wishes to note that a lot of them are argued for the sake of pissing people off. The merriment of his cynicism must make his penis numb with pressure because of having no room to erect itself inside the tightly defensive dome of pubic hair. Consequently, since pubic hair is known for its clumpy nature and hardness, a kick to Chug's balls would just emit a smile and a hideous "Wha wha wha". The only way to defeat the man is a punch to the face, but the author does not wish to attempt this feat. The spiky "24" o'clock shadow surrounding his facial area would rip through the skin of his hand, revealing pearly white bones and torn muscles. Although Chug will make a good lawyer, his talents would better serve him as a wrestler named "The Almighty Hairpochondriac" in the WWE.

IQ and Politics

2004-11-18T21:08:00.000-05:00

So it all started with this site: http://chrisevans3d.com/files/iq.htm

Judging by the data and the fact that the author of the site cited this from noted media journals, this IQ chart seemed a little plausible to me. It also made me laugh like a banshee. But right underneath this site on my Google search page (I searched for "IQ and Politics") was a site debunking the site above as a hoax.

Here is the debunking site: http://sq.4mg.com/IQpolitics.htm

You will notice on the bottom of the page that the individual who compiled this data is a staunch conservative. He even writes for the a conservative journal. But his data seems to be reliable enough. I wonder how Nader fits into all of this, are the smartest people voting for him?

What is going on?

2004-11-17T19:39:00.000-05:00

I don't know why I created this site, but it's here and I'm going to use it for something cool.