So keeping in spirit of rockin’ tunes, I decided to put up a theme song that I decided for a character in a game that I play. Enjoy!
Unfortunately I wasn’t able to find the actual video, but the song is still good.
Alcoholacaust Light
So this past weekend I spent some time with some new friends in Saskatoon. Let’s call them, Octopus, Leviathan and CutieHawk.
Now after weeks of planning and anticipation, I finally make it out there. The plan was to go up there for some gaming. However after much discussion about drinking and liquor, we designated this mission as “alcoholacaust”.
I arrive friday evening, slightly later than expected due to people being ass-hats and not knowing how to friggen drive, and we head to Fuddruckers where I intend to eat a half-pound burger with the utmost contentment. And it was glorious. Best burgers ever!
After returning to “The Octopus Den”, we decide to begin our mission. Let “Alcoholacaust” begin! So we start it off with a beer, before the first half is done, we move to a shooter I invented called a “Cherry Bomb”. Not long after, Octopus has other business to tend to for a while, so I hang out with Leviathan and we discuss matters of great importance over a large quantity of beer. Stopping occasionally for another Cherry Bomb. At approximately…sometime, i dunno…Leviathan leaves to pick up CutieHawk. During this time, Octopus finishes his previous task and keeps me occupied with more drinking whilst Leviathan is away. Leviathan returns, CutieHawk in tow. Since all of us are now together, we remove the roadbloacks and attack the booze full force.
I drank beer like someone was going to take them from me. I then introduce CutieHawk to the ‘fabled’ Cherry Bomb. She seems to like it, however she has to limit he intake of sugars. Octopus and I continue to decimate the liquor. During the night we discuss many things but mostly just having fun socializing. I do not recall when time I fell asleep, but it was in the neighborhood of 5am.
I sleep, restlessly on a 3 foot long loveseat. I am over 6 feet tall. Not comfortable. Fortunately, I woke the entire house at the crack of dawn as my feet kick over the table, over which they dangled. Octopus rushes from his room, to ensure that I have not broken myself, the table or the floor.
So, we are up now. And after careful thought, we decide to start our day. The plan for the day is to go to Park Cafe and ingest what they call “Death by cheese”. Summarized, this is about half a pound of cheese (mine also had bacon) between 2 pieces of bread. This is the covered in a dry rib type batter and deep fried. I had not come close to orgasm over food in a long time, my burger from the night before now but a faded memory hidden by the shadows of this magnificent sandwich. Much interesting discussion continues.
We ate this food because, after brunch, Octopus and I were going to make our chests look ‘normal’ by having metal rings surgically implanted. Its best to do this on a full stomach. Plus the food and water helped the hangover.
This procedure, was likely the single most terrifying thing I have ever done. The pain was excruciating for about 1/5th of a second. I have had many piercings, but none have actually scared me into not getting it done. This one always has but its literally the only one I have ever really wanted. Octopus basically calls me a pussy until I man up. After it’s over, it’s Octopus’ turn. He takes it like a man, however this is his third time to experience this.
This being done, we conclude our business, and step out into the frigid cold. My chest aches significantly since it has now been surgically altered.
We then head back to the Octopus Den after stopping by a store and resume where the previous night had ended. After a few hours of visiting, and drinking, we decide to go shoot a few games of pool since we are supposed to pick up CutieHawk shortly after 5pm. We hear from CutieHawk shortly after 5 and she decides that she would like to remain at the gaming event. I would also not mind checking out this event, so we head back to the Octopus Den to quickly put a costume together. It turns out decently based on the available options. I head to the game and meet up with CutieHawk. The game starts, and fortunately, they are serving liquor and allowing us to drink. So then, let’s get to it. CutieHawk and I hit the beers fairly hard, but not over the top to the point where the other players are noticing. After the game, we call Octopus to come and pick us up so we can continue Alcoholacaust. After I ingest two more beer at The Den, I realize just how very tired I really am since the previous night yielded little rest.
After apologizing profusely, I excuse myself to go sleep. In the basement bed this time becaus the loveseat was certainly not an option 2 nights in a row. I rest, better, but since I sleep on my stomach, I am not able to really fall into a deep sleep (see above about the surgical procedure).
I awake the next morning, fairly well rested. I am very dehydrated so I drink a couple glasses of lemonade. Then coffee. The four of us then spend a great part of the day socializing, which was awesome, until the time comes where i need to begin the trek back to NeoHouse. I am very sad to say goodbye to my friends, the weekend was far too short. As I swing my stuff over my shoulder, CutieHawk says: “Would you mind giving me a lift home? Its on your way out of town”. Of course I agree. So as I drive her home, she shows me her place of work/school. And it is a very cool and old looking structure. Lots of character. We say our goodbyes and I begin the lonely trek back home. Though ”Alcoholacaust” was really more like “Alcoholacaust Light”, I had a very amazing time visiting with my friends. There will certainly be more trips in the future, and I hope soon. I miss the 3 of you already, but at least I will see you guys again very soon.
Thank you very much to the 3 of you for your hospitality and for making me feel like part of your group. That was the most enjoyable part of my weekend.
PS. I TOTALLY HAVE MY NIPPLES PIERCED!!!!!
When crappy songs go metal!
A little tidbit forwarded to me by my good friend “Ringmaster”.
GO RIDERS!!!!
Death To All But Metal
Enough said!
The Final Inspection
This was forwarded to me by my sister and struck a nerve since I was also in the military. I couldn’t get the pictures to work but its still a very nice poem.
THE FINAL INSPECTION
THE FINAL INSPECTION
The army soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
‘Step forward now, Soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My Church have you been true?’
The soldier squared his shoulders and said,
‘No, Lord, I guess I ain’t.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can’t always be a saint.
I’ve had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I’ve been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny,
That wasn’t mine to keep….
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I’ve wept unmanly tears.
I know I don’t deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.
If you’ve a place for me here, Lord,
It needn’t be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don’t, I’ll understand.
There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the Soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.
‘Step forward now, you Soldier,
You’ve borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven’s streets,
You’ve done your time in Hell.’
~Author Unknown~
All politics aside, please pass this message on
if you care to offer recognition, appreciation, and a prayer
for our men and women who have served and are currently serving our country
and to also pray for those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for freedom.
THESE COLOURS DON’T RUN
Untitled: updated
As he laid awake on the metallic plate “they” call a cot, listening to the insanity of the prison, he tightly closed his eyes and covered his ears. The crashing of flesh on steel. The stinking smell of rotting carrion. The bloodcurdling screams of someone either being stabbed or raped, perhaps both.
Prisonship callsign: “Foresaken 461″, was the home of some of the worst criminal types in the known universe. When they are not even fit to be part of Earth prisons, they are brought here by transport, shoved into the airlock and left to themselves. Most of them didn’t even make it out of the airlock since transport wouldn’t even take off their shackles. The Foresaken, as it became known, drifted around space. No crew, no pilots, nothing. Just inmates.
He thought to himself; “How do I get myself out of this?”
As Rune wallowed in his thoughts, a loud “CRASH” just outside of his steel cell door. He leapt to his feat, in the same movement, yanked the door open.
“What the fuck is going on!” More of a comment than a question really, he didn’t give two shits what these lowlives were doing, as long as he was left alone.
As he looked around the corner of his doorway, he saw a sickly looking man. Quite a bit smaller than Rune both in mass and height, Nixon stood cowering near his doorway. Everybody knew Nixon, he was a complete mental case. Rumor had it, that he had been sent to a mental asylum for killing his neighbour. He was then sent to this prison for eating a psychiatrist and two orderlys. Who knows the truth for sure, but since his teeth were filed to fine points, he got left alone. He just wandered around talking crazy.
As Rune looked at Nixon, he wondered how he had survived so long. He wasn’t under anyone’s protection, and certainly wasn’t intimidating. But those teeth…
Clearly startled, Nixon stumbled over his answer; “Max says he is gonna kill you. Heh heh. He says you’re fucking DEAD!”
Rune grabbed Nixon by the neck and slammed his against his cell door, the sound of the impact was nearly deafening. “Thanks for wasting my goddam time you piece of shit. Now go tell Max that he can come and tell me himself next time. Unless he’s too much of a pussy. You tell him that EXACTLY, you hear me?” Not even giving Nixon time to answer, Rune dropped him and slammed the steel door in his face, momentarily hoping that Nixon was in it.
Nixon didn’t leave, Rune could hear him on the other side of the door, pounding at the steel with his fists. “Max hates soldiers. He told me to tell you that he is going to tear your heart out with his bare FUCKEN HANDS! He says you are a baby-killing pussy!”
Rune laid on his cot and rolled onto his side facing the wall, reading the random grafitti, thoughts dwelling on his family. “I’m no baby-killer” he thought. Soon, maybe even in the next few hours, Max and his clan of degenerates would come for him.
“Let them come” he said quietly through gritted teeth. He didn’t care at all anymore, but he would be damned if some piece of shit got the best of him. He looked at the picture of his wife and son, taken when he disembarked the drop-ship home after his last tour, this was also the last time he saw his family. After the picture was taken, he was approached by the MPs, cuffed, and taken away. How long was he gone for? Days? Months? Years? On The Foresaken; time had no bearing.
“I wonder what is going on back home” he thought. Rune wondered if he had been discarded like some piece of trash, tossed into a prison ship. He didn’t even get court marshalled. He looked at the large tattoo on his upper arm with a hint of disdain; a large black circle representing Earth, wreathed in flames with block letters in the centre spelling “O.D.T”. Even the worst of the worst get better than that. Rune didn’t even know what he was charged for, quite honestly, he was probably the only one in here who legitimately was innocent. “Is anybody even looking into this back on Earth?” he wondered. Even if he was put here by accident, who the hell would come and get him? Transport wouldn’t set foot on this ship, and if these criminals found out that someone was getting OFF, it would be fucking pandamonium! Nope, he was certainly on his own. Orbital Drop Troopers certainly weren’t welcome in many places, they had a bad reputation for “excessive collateral damage”. Rune didn’t understand why. If shit got so fucked up that they got sent in, collateral damage was irrelevant as long as the job got done.
The O.D.T Program was developed some where in the late 30th century, with a lot of “quiet” projects. After a LOT of work, eventually the Earth Coalition Military (was called the United Nations until in the mid 20th century, the world unified itself under one central governing body) agreed to fund the project. Significant research went into gene manipulation, specifically designed to chasing the “perfect soldier” myth. Apparently it got perfected. Rune was one of the births rom the first set of troops. Not so much as born, but created. The project heads thought that conventional birth left too much room for defects and imperfections. Military life is all Rune had ever known. He has trained since birth with the same platoon; designated “Helldivers”, which were basically his family. They were equipped with a lot of firepower, survival equipment, and heavy armour designed to sustain a large impact. When they were “dropped” in a hot zone, they were basically shot from a ship in low orbit right into the shit and came up guns blazing. Partly why they were so effective, when they hit the ground, the resulting debris and shockwave was enough to confuse the enemy and allow the Troopers to take advantage. Because of their manufactured genes, all of the O.D.T. were quite big, and trained in every aspect of modern warfare, similar to the Spartans of ancient Greece.
Untitled
As he lay awake on the metallic plate they call a cot, listening to the insanity of the prison, he gently closed his eyes and covered his ears.
He thought to himself; “How do I get myself out of this?”
As Rune wallowed in his thoughts, a loud “CRASH” just outside of his steel cell door. He leapt to his feat, in the same movement, yanks the door open.
“What the fuck is going on!” More of a comment than a question really, he didn’t give two shits what these lowlives were doing, as long as he was left alone.
As he looked around the corner of his doorway, he saw a sickly looking man. Quite a bit smaller than Rune both in mass and height, Nixon stood cowering near his doorway. Everybody knew Nixon, he was a complete mental case. Rumor had it, that he had been sent to a mental asylum for killing his neighbour. He was then sent to this prison for eating a psychiatrist and two orderlys. Who knows the truth for sure, but since his teeth were filed to fine points, he got left alone. He just wandered around talking crazy.
Prisonship callsign: “Foresaken 461″, was the home of some of the worst criminal types in the known universe. When they are not even fit to be part of Earth prisons, they are brought here by transport, shoved into the airlock and left to themselves. Most of them didn’t even make it out of the airlock since transport wouldn’t even take off their shackles. The Foresaken, as it became known, drifted around space. No crew, no pilots, nothing. Just inmates.
As Rune looked at Nixon, he wondered how he had survived so long. He wasn’t under anyone’s protection, and certainly wasn’t intimidating. But those teeth…
Clearly startled, Nixon stumbled over his answer; “Max says he is gonna kill you. Heh heh. He says you’re fucking DEAD!”
“Thanks for wasting my goddam time you piece of shit. Now go tell Max that he can come and tell me himself next time. Unless he’s too much of a pussy. You tell him that EXACTLY, you hear me?” Not even giving Nixon time to answer, Rune slammed the steel door in his face, momentarily hoping that Nixon was in it.
Nixon didn’t leave, Rune could hear him on the other side of the door. “Max hates soldiers. He told me to tell you that he is going to tear your heart out with his bare FUCKEN HANDS! He says you are a baby-killing pussy!”
Rune laid on his cot and rolled onto his side facing the wall, reading the random grafitti, thoughts dwelling on his family. I’m no baby-killer. Soon, maybe even in the next few hours, Max and his clan of degenerates would come for him.
“Let them come” he said quietly through gritted teeth. He didn’t care at all anymore, but he would be damned if some piece of shit got the best of him. He looked at the picture of his wife and son, taken when he disembarked the drop-ship home after his last tour, this was also the last time he saw his family. After the picture was taken, he was approached by the MPs, cuffed, and taken away. How long was he gone for? Days? Months? Years? On The Foresaken; time had no bearing.
this is my first try at this, but its a segment of the novel i am working on. be honest with your comments please.
Much Anticipated
I know my readers have been eagerly and impatiently awaiting my next riveting tale or piece of social commentary. Please keep watching the site, your prayers will soon be answered. In the meantime, check this out.
***I have amended this post to include THE ACTUAL SEGMENT from the show. My favorite part is the dumping of hot coffee. Metalocalypse is a great show and I love Dethklok.***
NEO
A Commentary On Proper Etiquette
The point of this commentary is to get us all on the same page. Some of us know “the etiquette” inside and out. Others know parts of it while there are some who are either completely ignorant or just don’t f&*?ing care. Come on, for the rest of us, at least put in the effort.
Now guys, the first (and possibly the most important) rule is: under NO circumstances do you go to the bathroom with one of your friends. This is just not f&*%ing right. Unless your “friend” is a tight-assed, cowboy hat wearing big breasted hottie who is going to smoke your pole in the bathroom, or in there helping you barf ‘cuz you can’t hold your liquor, you go in there solo. And by this logic, if you go (because you just couldn’t wait, you big pussy) and see your friend, you turn around and leave until your friend is finished. Exception to this rule (there IS only one): long roadtrips where the guy driving has the bladder of a camel and you haven’t stopped driving for 19 hours and 12 beers.
When you go in, you TAKE THE FARTHEST POINT! This means that if you see the urinal or stall at the other end, that’s where you go. If said urinal (or stall) is occupado, you take the one farthest from THAT guy. The general rule of thumb here is that you don’t walk in and pony up beside Joe Schmoe when there is a whole row of free urinals. I swear to god that could make me bite the head off a hedgehog. In conjunction with this rule: GUYS ARE NOT IN THERE TO MAKE FRIENDS, TALK ABOUT THE GAME, SEE PICS OF YOUR KIDS or whatever. We are there to take a piss and THAT’S IT! F&*# I hate people that do that. At best, you nod to the guy next to you sort of to say “Hey dood, don’t look at my junk and we won’t have any problems” which will likely be returned by the other guys with a “likewise buddy” nod.
And for the love of christ, if the stall door is closed, SOMEONE IS F&*#ING IN THERE!!!! Don’t be looking through the crack, over the top or banging on the door. Why? Because the guy in it might KNOW “the etiquette” and be a great big bastard who doesn’t take that s%$t sitting down (no pun intended). Like its not bad enough that you were forced to shit in a public bathroom, now you have some godless lowlife looking in the stall to see if your shit is huge or whatever.
And most important. Don’t look at another guy’s hammer. Not only is it disrespectful and wierd, but it reeks of fu#$ing despair. For the love of god, please follow these simple rules.
Man vs. Beast: The Struggle
I woke with a start. Must have been a nightmare. I look to my left and notice that the lady is still sleeping, aparently undisturbed by my premature awakening. The room is still dark, the clock on my right shows 3:22 and I realize that I have a few more hours of sleep to go. As I settle back in to the warmth of my bed, I notice an urge that is too overwhelming to be ignored, I must urinate. If I do not soon, the lady next to me will certainly be upset. I struggle to find the floor with my feet while rubbing my right eye with the corner of my fist. I have absolutely no idea what is to come.
I walk into the bathroom through the darkness, sit, and begin to relieve myself. In times like this, it is best to sit so as not to cause yourself personal injury. As a yawn escapes me, I feel a stray hair flutter to my face. My left hand casually brushes it aside and the deviant hair likely falls to the floor. My business finished, I stand and decide to have a glass of water but it is too dark and i cannot find the glass. I reach out with my right hand and flip the light switch.
BLINDNESS!
As I shield my eyes from the light to regain some semblance of sight, I sense that I am not alone. Rubbing my eyes to help clear the blindness, I notice movement near the only exit from the room. A quick glance yields no results, but I know that I am no longer alone.
My sight is nearly back, I attempt to exit and that’s when I see the beast staring back at me. A shiver runs up my spine and the hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. The beast is simply staring back at me, hanging from it’s perch, mocking me with its many eyes. I do not know if a beast like this feels fear, but before long I suspect I will have my answer.
I duck to try and escape beneath it, simultaneous it lowers itself. I squeeze myself to the side to slide passed and the beast, and some small breeze carries it toward me, as though some mystical force refuses to allow peace. Confrontation is the only answer, and one of us will not survive.
As I steel myself for the impending assault, the beast flails its many legs, a sign of aggression to show it’s taunting me. I quickly assess my resources, only to realize that I am nearly defenseless. There are a number of blunt instruments around the edge of the tub, and the lady’s towel hanging from the wall. And that’s when it happened.
The beast plumments to the floor at incredible speed, hurtling itself to a superior position. It will become easy for me to become trapped, the beast will no longer be limited to the movement of his elevation device, but have a full range of tactical positions. In my retreat, I topple something but do not dare take my eyes from the creature, one false move and I will have presented an even bigger target.
Already a disadvantage with my 2 arms and legs, this superior being has many more. Coupled with a multitude of eyes, a tough exoskeleton and impossible speed and agility, it seems I face a truly unbeatable foe. I must move quickly.
Shifting my stance to one of aggression, I howl at the coming glory. Any fear and doubt has been replaced with agression and hate. Mimicking the creatures inhuman speed and without removing my eyes from the beast’s, I reach for the towel. This should prove to make a most useful distraction. Careful to not make any sudden movements, I slowly prepare my onslaught, savoring the anticipation of victory.
And then, without warning I hurl the towel at the beast, and dive after it, hoping to trap the creature underneath. As the towel hits the floor, I land atop it, successfully trapping the creature beneath it and removing its speed and agility from the battle, which is not yet over.
I struggle to find a weapon and in my frantic search I see what was toppled over. A trash recepticle. My left arm thrashes out, launching refuse everywhere, desperate in my search when I find it. A small, pressurized metalline cannister with trances of a foamy white substance on its cap. This is my “Excaliber”. I wrench it free from the rest of the discarded items.
I now know that I have the upper hand and victory is inevitable. I raise the weapon high, briefly closing my eyes. With a cry of fury, I bring down the weapon, repeatedly. My assault is relentless as a hurricane. I land blow after blow, for what seems to be hours. My breathing heavy and laboured, I raise the towel from the floor noticing that it has nearly been pulverized from my rage. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of my foe. The beast resembled some sort of paste, as though it had fallen from a great height.
With laboured breathing, I stand in triumph, and leave the battlefield unmolested as a tribute to my comrades previously defeated and also as a warning for others to come. I know that this is not the final battle, but certainly, will not be forgotten.
