Sunday, December 30, 2007

Monday, December 24, 2007

Christmas Carols, the root of all evil.

Honestly, I thought this years Christmas was good. In fact, I thought it was great, even if I hadn't quite gotten to the point of it actually being Christmas yet. Why? Because I didn't hear the plethora of badly sung, overdone and horrifyingly rendered Christmas Carols on the radio. Honestly, why do people seem to associate this crap with Christmas? It's just people selling out for your buck doing their own "Wonderful White and Wispy Wankers Wreath of Wackiness Christmas"-something-or-rather. It's the pushiness of it all, the fact that I have this crap forced upon me wherever I go. I walk through the mall, there's something about Rudolf. Who the fuck cares?

I'm tired of "Winter Wonderlands" and "Santa is Coming to Town" and however many other bloody Santa songs that have been produced in the swollen anus of the music production business. The feces flung through the fan to rain down on me isn't pretty. No, it isn't snow. No, it doesn't make me happy. And no, I don't want to hear the shit, let alone feel it sliding through my ears to interfere with my eardrums and give me the proverbial headache.

Yes, some Christmas Carols are fine, but the And they won't be. Ever. I hope you have a Happy Christmas. I know I will...when the Christmas Carols stop.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Such is Life

Life sucks. Life is like gravity -- it weighs you down, it sucks, holds you back, keeps you from getting ahead. It's a nasty bitch with something against you and you never quite know why. It's like a video game, suicide is the level skip cheat to get out of it. Some people live for life, some people have life and don't live. But I'm not talking about the difference between simply existing and actually living today. Maybe another time. I'm just bored and wanted to add something.

So, tomorrow I head down to Kamloops to pick up my sister and bring her home so we can spend Christmas together. Too bad my older brother decided to head up North and visit friends. I won't see him till after New Years, maybe for a day. That'll suck. While I'm there I can do some shopping, not that I need to do Christmas shopping -- it's already done. I was smart that way. But it'll be more along the lines of shopping for me, stuff I might want and all that, like a couple DVDs or something.

Even better, a good friend of mine is coming up to visit, stay for Christmas and stay for a week and a bit. Can't wait for that. Been looking forward to this all year long. Words cannot describe the excitement I'm feeling. It'll be awesome. It'll be more than awesome. Dear Lord.

As an aside to everything else, I sometimes watch anime. I recently picked up Mobile Suit Gundam 00. I was surprised that it didn't suck horribly. I remember Gundam SEED and Gundam SEED Destiny. Both of those were like wading through open sewage -- a disgusting experience that scarred my psyche and left me hating the entire genre of anime. At least this has some redeeming points so far. Hopefully the producers didn't screw it up later.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Who does poetry? I know I don't...not really.

So, a long time ago I wrote poetry. I still do now and again when I get really bored. So, here's a poem I wrote when I was a misguided teenager of the age of 15 or so. Feel free to laugh at it, I know I do.

The Angel Did Die

Feathers falling, like wizened white snow
Dripping and dropping, along air currents slow
Twisting in twine, under moonlit sky
Fallen and gone, the angel did die

Spiraling downward, lost chance to try
The truth is before you, I do not lie
Your guardian is gone, taken the blow
Died away, for this you should know

Hazy quills of white lackluster
Their life has ended, no endurance to muster
Complain as you might, about their death tonight
Go cry for your fallen with all of your might

The arrow has pierced their once pure breast
A quarrel of death flew through its chest
There are no more answers for your curiosity to bequest
The angels of high have fallen from nest

And now with wings black, they descend from above
Looking all the world like an unholy dove
They draw their blade to take a life
And spread more pain and further strife

It is this angel of death's minion
Falling from the heavens as the devil's pinion
Twisting in twine under a star filled sky
Fallen and gone, the angel did die

Wednesday, December 12, 2007



I have it as of tomorrow. I'll be doing the long trek from Manitoba to British Columbia starting tomorrow once I can get away from the lines and the proverbial wonder that is my job. Oh, and what a wonder it is. Probably why I can't wait to go on my extremely long deserved leave. Spend some time with friends and family.

Can't wait to leave.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

There can be only one.

From: LTU.

Mupod Negnirt | Posted 11/26/2007 2:49:17 AM

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Fathers: How Cruel

Dad should read my blog and leave comments. If he doesn't, I feel sad and empty inside. He's so mean.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Dominion - Threat Counter (cont)

Dominion: Threat Counter

-> Unknown Serpents

1030 Hours, 3.22.5E50 / GCM Stealth Ship Andregalheit
Akagassiz System near Kyatzet V

The boxlike monstrosity slid through the inky darkness on white flames, slashes of light flickering along its flat surfaces. Starlight reflected off the silver-colored hull of the metallic craft, glinting reflections of a bluish tinted star that burned brightly at the center of the system. From afar, a different ship swam in the darkness of space, the Vadasian stealth ship, the GCS Andregalheit. There were no drive flames from this craft, its matte black outline an eerie contrast to the system it watched, looking like a pocket of pure emptiness.

Aboard the bridge of the small craft, Naether[01] Grus Valhg-Zelov cracked his knuckles obsessively. He had been in system observing this new species for thirty-one days. Sent by a paranoid government that flagged every new species it encountered as hostile since the encounter with the volatile Hagasian, Grus Valhg-Zelov found himself passing over the blasé contact reports submitted by the initial survey craft that had been through the system a total of seventy-two days ago. It described a pre-hyperdrive capable socity that was capable of dealing massive blows with weapons that were flagged as highly dangerous after initial scans confirmed a strange ability to possibly pierce shields. It didn't help, either, that since the outbreak of the war with the Hagasian, and subsequent violent outbursts by species that the Gre'kuquen Confederation came into contact with, they felt that each new species should be observed first before any kind of first contact could commence.

So Grus Valhg-Zelov sat aboard a bridge gnawing on bruised and split knuckles with a hackneyed snarling as he listened constantly to comms traffic in a clacking, jawed tongue that was summarily translated by a stale software program put together by his boring comms officer and his tactical officer who happened to have a passing interest in computer programming. He had become nearly indifferent to the whole as a bored comms officer monitored the comms traffic and reported back in monotone every last translated word and message to his rather uninspired commander. A repetition of a few words had revealed over time the name of the species: Jyet Nyural. He was beginning to think that the monotone was just his comms officer attempting to be funny, or to annoy him. Either way, it wasn't funny, and it was really annoying. But he couldn't do disciplinary action for a Vadasian doing his job. He grunted.

Naether Grus Valhg-Zelov called up the last communique he had just gotten, looking over the new orders he had just received; reconnaissance missions on the surface. Luckily, those orders had come with twelve Intelligence Division Naval Insurgents. They were affectionately called INTDIV NAVINS. Locations were already sited into the firing computer linked into the Needler fire-control structure, ready to send the waiting twelve onto their destinations at horrifying speeds and be subjugated to severe gees upon entry into the atmosphere. He didn't envy them their job.

"Report Needler launch readiness status," Grus Valhg-Zelov asked.

"Needler tubes locked onto targets. Awaiting orders to fire," fire control officer Gustav Hakr-Visarett said.

"Fire when ready."

There was a physical vibration through the floorboards as the Needlers began to fire on their predetermined flight paths. Each shot shook the stealth craft as the two launch tubes fired several times. Grus Valhg-Zelov mentally counted the number. One... three... seven... ten... twelve. Once they were away, he barked out a series of orders to monitor the drop and the Needlers themselves as they flashed through space before plummeting into the atmosphere. He wanted to see if the Jyet Nyural noticed the incursion. He hoped not. It would mean more paperwork if they died, a lot more than if the INTDIV NAVINS succeeded. He made a silent prayer to Ankra Anris, Mother Creator, then began his brooding.

- - -

It was called a Needler by those who used it. The brass called it a Long-Range Deployment Vehicle. Call it what you will, it worked. A boarding-action and orbital drop craft, the Needler got its name because of its shape and look. It looked like a giant, over-sized needle with a large, high-powered ionic thruster slapped on the rear and enough room left over from all the gadgetry that made it work to cram a full-sized and raging Vadasian in it. It was equipped with a hyperdrive, probably one of the fastest in use, along with shield generators and an ionic frequency generator. The last item giving the Needler the ability to pierce shields, very useful since one of its primary uses was boarding-actions against enemy capital ships. The launcher for the Needler was built like an archaic projectile weapon, fed by a series of "magazines" where the Needlers were housed. Each Needler would cycle into the main launch tube and be fired from a series of gauss coils that would accelerate the craft up to speed before the main thruster kicked in.

The twelve agents lined up next to the hanging Needlers, stepping into their appropriate machine. The cockpit covers slid down.

A jarring, rumbling motion ensued as the craft was dropped into the firing chamber and locked into position. The launcher irised open, already pointed toward its target destination. There was a lurch and a bang. The Needler flew with agonizing speed, aided by its own ion engine that now flared brightly behind it. It hit the upper atmosphere, the ceramic tiling sloughing off in chunks and boiling off in a reddish haze. It looked just like a meteorite. The agent had four days.

01) Naether: Vadasian naval rank equivalent to Captain.

Planetfall / Objective Reconnaissance

Monday, December 03, 2007


So, I made the -- fictitious -- news (KAGIN) today...

Genesis Dragon | Posted 12/2/2007 9:58:07 PM

KAGIN Weekly Issue #8

More truth than a room full of monkeys with typewriters.

... In today's news, we discuss VTD Ltd, and ... *

Visarett Technologica Designs: What Are They?

Visarett Technologica Designs (Ltd) is a company run by CEO and army server Wolfgang Visarett. The company seems to be purely focused on weapons research and development, which may be why so few people are willing to get on Wolfgang's bad side. This company is intriguing in that it caters to the general public by asking them for ideas, then creating weaponry and gear based on those suggestions. It is, of course, up to Wolfgang's discretion as to what gets created, which raises the question of exactly what his criteria are for which he deems acceptable and which he doesn't. True, he has a list of some rules, but he also includes the rather sinister message that he can "refuse to make any weapon/gadget at any time." Does he have specific plans and he's looking for specific ideas to fit those plans? Only Wolfgang knows for sure, but since it's a big company they're required by law to be involved in some sort of sinister conspiracy. And with the vast stockpiles of military equipment they must have, one can only assume that whatever they would be involved in would be huge.

Very sinister indeed...

*: parts omitted because they don't pertain to VTD.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

WPCA - When Purple Clouds Attack

When Purple Clouds Attack

I wasn't sure exactly how I got here, or why. I saw this strange vortex, if it could even be called that. Just some swirling cloud of purple about the size of any man within the six foot range in height. Normally I wouldn't give too much thought into such things, such as seeing a swirling cloud of purplish stuff floating off several feet away and keeping pace with me, but the thing looked to be following me. It was straight out of a sci-fi b-movie, except where the effects in the b-movie would look utterly fake, this was borderline real on the edge of being hallucinatory.

At first my pace quickened, the cloud followed suit. My heart began to beat a little bit faster around this point, and I was fairly certain my mind was going into a sort of hysterics about now. It was about the moment where I had gone into a full out sprint that the world began to vanish from view. I couldn't tell you whether or not the thing had any sentience to it. I don't think I'd ever know, really, because the next I knew, I was no longer in Kansas, or rather Canada; and for that fact, I was no longer on Earth.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

WPCA - There's No Place like a War Zone

Alderick rubbed his head with a hand covered in blood. Whose, he didn't know. All he did know was that his head ached something fierce. There were screams, and what appeared to be scaffolding distributed on the ground in a fashion that just screamed new-age art and was funny; and as far as Alderick was concerned was that there really was screaming going on.

People weren't just screaming for the sake of making noise, they were yelling specifically at him. He eyed some of them in the kind of woozy disposition that generally belonged to drunken individuals. He couldn't quite make out the words, but the frantic way this one woman in an orange uniform of some sort was motioning for him to move away from his location, he got the gist of the situation, or at least hoped he did in some corner of his mind.

Standing on his feet rather unsteadily, he moved out from under falling debris and detritus to make his way toward a quickly thinning crowd of people. Alderick wondered where those people were going and why they were leaving so quickly. The orange-suited woman grabbed him by the upper arm and began to bodily yank, pull and shove him toward something that looked rather silvery to him.

Alderick didn't know it, but he had a kind of stupid smile plastered on his face that was making him the envy of everyone around him. He didn't know they were consumed with fear. How could he? He'd just woken up a moment ago, and as far as he was concerned, everything was going fine, despite the constant ruckus and the sounds of metal falling from the ceiling onto the concrete below to make twisted patterns that somehow were recognizable to Alderick.

He was shoved aboard the silvery thing, which manifested itself to be a plane of some sort, but with the shortest wings Alderick had ever seen for a plane of this size. He was going to ask how the hell they planned on getting off the ground without a runway, but any attempt at making noise came out in a gurgle that probably sounded like a baby about the spit up.

The orange-suited woman again appeared in his field of vision and forcibly pushed Alderick into a seat. She strapped him in as though he were a baby, then sat down next to him and strapped herself in as well. A voice came over the intercom, but Alderick couldn't make sense of it. He began to wonder if his ears and vocal cords might have been damaged, and this sent him into a panic. The events going on around him weren't making him go mad, it was the thought of never being able to speak or hear again that were.

Those who were around him just thought he was finally coming around to the gravity of the situation, but that was as far from the truth as you could get. He was just worried that he would never again be able to ask that waitress on the 5th and Jordan Ave. coffee shop for his usual; to flirt with her momentarily as he mad his way off

Alderick suddenly found himself at an impasse. He became silent, his face screwing itself into a sort of feeble attempt at concentration. The rotors of the helicopter spun, but Alderick was certain he was on a plane, wasn't he? And the woman in the orange suit next to him was a flight attendant. She would give him directions to wherever he needed to go.

There was something about a secret code to save the world or something hidden away in the back of his brain. No, wait, that was a movie, no his life, but Alderick had the distinct feeling it might have been his life at some point. Or at least he felt he had partaken in such a thing at some point.

"Shut the hell up already!" someone screamed from behind him, or was it beside him?

Alderick finally opened his eyes to the world around him, and noted that truly, he was in a helicopter and not a plane as he had first suspected. Second, he had been moaning madly which was why the remark 'Shut the hell up already' had been made and aimed in his general direction.

Also, the group of people around him weren't suited in orange; oh no, they were clothed in desert camouflage and carried rifles of a sort that Alderick couldn't recognize, although he was certain that they might be Windsor FSU-4's, considering they had grenade launchers slung under the barrel of the weapon in a most ominous fashion. Why he knew this, Alderick couldn't begin to understand, but he did.

As an afterthought, Alderick decided to turn his head and regard the woman who had shoved him on board the helicopter, to thank her and ask for her phone number. Instead he was shocked to find a petite looking man, with a gruff face and the most devilish looking brown eyes he had ever seen.

"What're you looking at, chump?" the man said in a very disgusting sounding voice. Alderick thought it was like the sound of an animal vomiting or something, real throaty and completely unpleasant to hear.

Everything was completely different from what he had imagined things as. Deciding to actually look through the porthole behind his head--was he on a ship?--Alderick did confirm he was in the air, and that the rotor churning above his head rhythmically were helicopter blades and not something else. The view afforded by the porthole in the side of the copter was one of desolation. Far below and behind him black clouds rose, churning and broiling into the air in a most ominous fashion. Tangles of wreckage lay strewn about. Twisted girders and malformed metal siding and sheets with small fires splashed around for effect.

And during the way back, all Alderick would do was wonder why he too wore desert camouflage like the others around him, and bemoan why he couldn't speak in a sobbing tone. His wondering was cut short when a missile fired from a hidden SAM took out the copter he had been escaping in. Alderick would be mourned as a hero, when in fact, he had cracked under the pressure. A kid in combat that left the world in a blaze of fire and incandescent gas to rain wreckage across the desert landscape.