New Year celebration, and indeed, the '08 is coming soon, and everybody here wishes 'yall only the things you wish for - except if you want a nuclear holocaust or another ''OC choppers'' season. In that case, you can go to hell.
Happy New Year!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Yummy, yummy, yummy, Jamie got something in her tummy
Britney Spears 16-years-old sister got knocked up, and Madelyn explains how her PR team should spin this to her advantage.
By: Madelyn
Press conference on Jamie-Lynn Spears pregnancy:
PR: Hello everybody!
I know you all have real stories to cover, so let's do in sailor-sex mode: short and sweet.
First of all, that dude isn't the father.
The real daddy is... GOD.
That's right, God left his or hers divine genetic material in Jamie's tummy.
You find that hard to believe? Here are the facts:
Jamie, like her whole redneck family is very religious, but not in any hippie/intellectual way, but more in the ignorant, cavemen please-give-us-rain manner that God prefers.
Second, she's hot. Unlike her trampy older sister, Jamie is still cute and adorable. Also, she's in the hardcore under age group.
Everyone likes that barley-legal stuff. In principle, this is in the same category. But, have in mind that He is the creator of Universe and complete existence, so He probably likes it even more barley. They don't call it sweet 16 for nothing.
Now, will all this mean that she is carrying the second Jesus/Jesusett Christ?
Well, her team of medical and church experts doesn't think so, and believe that this is more in the lines of one nightstand.
Let's face it; God has a really stressful job, so it's good for all of us that he got laid.
We know he had a good time: Jamie looks like a girl that knows how to give a decent time to her sex partner, and it's not like she could have said something like: ''Oh, I don't like to give a BJ strait away.'' God got whatever he wanted, no question about it. Now, I bet he's a lot more relaxed - maybe we'll have less Ebola outbreaks and a not so many Presidents from the Bush family in the years to come.
Also, theology points out that the second coming of Christ has to occur in a tormented place where the oppressed desperately need a savior.
Currently, that place is Iraq.
So, to sum it up:
God got Jamie pregnant, and the kid won't be the next Jesus.
She is still a virgin and doesn't believe in sex before marriage.
Human sex, that is.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
How NOT to kill your grandparents
Grandpa Milo debates the wisdom of announcing your criminal plans to the Church of Satan in the manner of this young man from Ohio.
By: Grandpa Milo
Some would say I'm old.
Most would say I'm in my ''golden years'', but no, I'm not.
They're not golden - they're horrible. It sucks to be old, and it pisses me off. And, because of that, I sometimes take it out on others, or, more precisely, on my family. I know my kid and grandkids sometimes want to kill me.
That's perfectly normal.
But, they don't send their plans to the high priest of the Church of Satan!
This moron did, alongside his full name and address. And what did the priest do?
Called the FBI, of course. Next day, a SWAT team took the idiot down town, where big guys with mustache yelled at him, and inquired about his views on radical Christianity, Islam, Satanism and Communism.
His grandparents lived.
Well, that didn't go as planed, asswipe. What did he expect?
Reply from the Church of Satan:
To the soon-to-be killer,
We received your letter concerning your homicidal intentions, and all we have to say is:
Good for you!
Keep voting Republican or the hippies will take away your grandparent-killing-guns.
Yours truly,
Dark lord Satan
You know what I would do if I was his grandfather? Thrash the whole house, draw some pentagrams and then covertly take the misses on a trip to Hawaii.
My retarded offspring would get arrested again and convicted as a multiple murderer. After a few months of max security prison showers and courtyard stabbings, we would show up and settle the whole thing.
Maybe.
That would teach him a lesson.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Top 10 scientific discoveries
Paul / Michael gives his view on top 10 scientific discoveries of 2007 by time.com.
By: Paul / Michael
No. 10: Real-Life Kryptonite
No, I'm not kidding. It was dug up in Serbia and has the same composition as the rock in Superman. I know - it's completely retarded.
No. 9: The World's Oldest Animal
It was a 405 year-old clam, but it got eaten in a very expensive Tokyo restaurant. Before its death, clam said in clear English: ''Humans, eat me!'' but I think it was intended as an insult.
No. 8: Man's Migration Out of Africa
Bad news for the KKK and Arian Brotherhood - we are all descendant from the black continent, byach! Oh well, back to the racial drawing board.
No. 7: A Big Birdlike Dinosaur
This is very cool, but only if you're 11 years old.
No. 6: "Hot Jupiters" Discovered
Didn't get this one. Apparently, they found some new planets - they are discovering new ones every week, for god sakes. I think those people are hitting the bottle.
No. 5: Building a Human Heart Valve
No good - the resulting product will only give us more walking, talking, complain seniors.
No. 4: Hundreds of New Species
Don't get used to them; we are going to kill them off pretty soon - the majority will be eaten in Japanese restaurants.
No. 3: Brightest Supernova Recorded
Some star exploded a few million years ago, but we're still waiting for our human stars to explode - like Britney Spears.
No. 2: Human Mapped
Some bearded guy mapped his whole genome first time in human history, showing the whole world he's an old overachiever.
No. 1: Stem Cell Breakthroughs
Now, this is truly something big. In a few years, we could be curing very dangerous diseased and making human life longer. They managed to convert a regular, living human cell to a stem cell, without having to destroy an embryo. But, they are still going to hell along side condom users, Bin Laden and all those who ever thought anything bad about Rev. Jerry Falwell.
By: Paul / Michael
No. 10: Real-Life Kryptonite
No, I'm not kidding. It was dug up in Serbia and has the same composition as the rock in Superman. I know - it's completely retarded.
No. 9: The World's Oldest Animal
It was a 405 year-old clam, but it got eaten in a very expensive Tokyo restaurant. Before its death, clam said in clear English: ''Humans, eat me!'' but I think it was intended as an insult.
No. 8: Man's Migration Out of Africa
Bad news for the KKK and Arian Brotherhood - we are all descendant from the black continent, byach! Oh well, back to the racial drawing board.
No. 7: A Big Birdlike Dinosaur
This is very cool, but only if you're 11 years old.
No. 6: "Hot Jupiters" Discovered
Didn't get this one. Apparently, they found some new planets - they are discovering new ones every week, for god sakes. I think those people are hitting the bottle.
No. 5: Building a Human Heart Valve
No good - the resulting product will only give us more walking, talking, complain seniors.
No. 4: Hundreds of New Species
Don't get used to them; we are going to kill them off pretty soon - the majority will be eaten in Japanese restaurants.
No. 3: Brightest Supernova Recorded
Some star exploded a few million years ago, but we're still waiting for our human stars to explode - like Britney Spears.
No. 2: Human Mapped
Some bearded guy mapped his whole genome first time in human history, showing the whole world he's an old overachiever.
No. 1: Stem Cell Breakthroughs
Now, this is truly something big. In a few years, we could be curing very dangerous diseased and making human life longer. They managed to convert a regular, living human cell to a stem cell, without having to destroy an embryo. But, they are still going to hell along side condom users, Bin Laden and all those who ever thought anything bad about Rev. Jerry Falwell.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Screenwriters strike
Did you hear about the screenwriters strike that's giving serious headaches in the movie industries? Grandpa Milo did, and he has a great idea.
By: Grandpa Milo
Hey, big time Hollywood producers, I know you're worried.
I know you wake up in the middle of the night, afraid and confused, and you think it's because of this strike thing. But, you're wrong. The underlying problem is much more serious.
You see, like the US, you are also dependent. But, unlike the US, which is dependant on foreign oil, you cannot simply bomb Iran and overthrow Chavez to deal with your addiction.
Sure, some of you are hocked on crack, others on whore killing, and that's perfectly normal.
But you all have one in common, and it's a biggie.
You are dependant on those ex-class clowns, alienated college graduates and washed up poets.
You need your screenwriters, and you know it.
But, that's only what they want you to think. You can do it all without their smart-ass scribbling.
How?
Simple - make your actors and presenters the writers!
Think it won't work? Think again - I didn't say they would be good. In fact, all would suck like crazy, because, well, no one became an actor because she or he was a good student. Majority was terrible, and this was their last option.
And that's exactly the point. Every movie, comedy or not, will be hilarious.
Just imagine - a spy action/thriller written by Keanu Rives!
A drama about a dying boy made by Sandra Bullock!
Science fiction flick written by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen!
We would laugh our pants off for sure.
And you don't have to stop with movies. TV shows, daily shows, late night shows - those people don't know anything about their gussets or the topics their covering. They would have to improvise or do their own material. Either way, they would expose themselves as ignorant, stupid, shallow persons, and we love to see that on TV. We wouldn't have to wait for their sex/drug use/aggressive behavior tapes to come out - we could see their embarrassment every night, all night!
Writers, who the hell needs you?
Go back to writing awful poetry and depression.
By: Grandpa Milo
Hey, big time Hollywood producers, I know you're worried.
I know you wake up in the middle of the night, afraid and confused, and you think it's because of this strike thing. But, you're wrong. The underlying problem is much more serious.
You see, like the US, you are also dependent. But, unlike the US, which is dependant on foreign oil, you cannot simply bomb Iran and overthrow Chavez to deal with your addiction.
Sure, some of you are hocked on crack, others on whore killing, and that's perfectly normal.
But you all have one in common, and it's a biggie.
You are dependant on those ex-class clowns, alienated college graduates and washed up poets.
You need your screenwriters, and you know it.
But, that's only what they want you to think. You can do it all without their smart-ass scribbling.
How?
Simple - make your actors and presenters the writers!
Think it won't work? Think again - I didn't say they would be good. In fact, all would suck like crazy, because, well, no one became an actor because she or he was a good student. Majority was terrible, and this was their last option.
And that's exactly the point. Every movie, comedy or not, will be hilarious.
Just imagine - a spy action/thriller written by Keanu Rives!
A drama about a dying boy made by Sandra Bullock!
Science fiction flick written by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen!
We would laugh our pants off for sure.
And you don't have to stop with movies. TV shows, daily shows, late night shows - those people don't know anything about their gussets or the topics their covering. They would have to improvise or do their own material. Either way, they would expose themselves as ignorant, stupid, shallow persons, and we love to see that on TV. We wouldn't have to wait for their sex/drug use/aggressive behavior tapes to come out - we could see their embarrassment every night, all night!
Writers, who the hell needs you?
Go back to writing awful poetry and depression.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Beware, seniors use social networking sites!
Grandpa Milo explains why we shouldn't be surprised with the fact that elderly people use sites like FaceBook or Myspace.
By: Grandpa Milo
Newsflash - old people DO stuff!
My God! Some one should write a book about that. Even better, a really pointless movie that underlines facts that are known even to a retarded sable boy. Al Gore comes to mind.
Come on, people! Over-50s Invade the Social Networking Scene?
That's not news. We are old, not dead.
Seniors use soc.net sites - wow, can they dance to a funny song? Do they react to their reflection?
If you find this fact intriguing, here are a few more, equally astonishing revelations:
There are Chinese that don't know kung fu.
Some men of Irish descent don't like beer.
A black man standing on a street corner doesn't have to be a crack dealer.
In other words, dear narrow-minded reader, being a part of an imagined statistical group doesn't imply your lifestyle. Just like you, we, the above-50-crowd can use new technologies and reap the benefits of the telecommunication age. But when we learn new stuff, we don't have a need to shout it out, like you do, because we don't have to impress anyone in hope of getting laid.
We are either married and/or just don't care about sex anymore.
By: Grandpa Milo
Newsflash - old people DO stuff!
My God! Some one should write a book about that. Even better, a really pointless movie that underlines facts that are known even to a retarded sable boy. Al Gore comes to mind.
Come on, people! Over-50s Invade the Social Networking Scene?
That's not news. We are old, not dead.
Seniors use soc.net sites - wow, can they dance to a funny song? Do they react to their reflection?
If you find this fact intriguing, here are a few more, equally astonishing revelations:
There are Chinese that don't know kung fu.
Some men of Irish descent don't like beer.
A black man standing on a street corner doesn't have to be a crack dealer.
In other words, dear narrow-minded reader, being a part of an imagined statistical group doesn't imply your lifestyle. Just like you, we, the above-50-crowd can use new technologies and reap the benefits of the telecommunication age. But when we learn new stuff, we don't have a need to shout it out, like you do, because we don't have to impress anyone in hope of getting laid.
We are either married and/or just don't care about sex anymore.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Do you believe in ghosts?
Why? Because your neighbors do, if you live in the US of A, that is.
According to this research, more than one third of Americans believe in ghosts
(34%), and the same number believes in UFO's.
But lets forget about lonely X-file fans, and concentrate on the first group.
Jesus friggin Christ!
34 percent! Ghosts, and not in the sense of an after life, but more along these lines:
Jimmy, I know you think granny died yesterday, but she is still with us; here in the living room, sitting right next to you.
I'm trying really hard to understand this.
I'm drawing on all my tolerance and empathy. But my inner Buddha is telling me the same thing as my inner Patton - these people are idiots.
This isn't a religious thing, because no religion propagates this moronic belief. Sure, a lot of tribal religions have ancestral spirits, but they represent a connection to the previous generations.
These are Scooby Do variety ghosts.
Someone died violently in a house on the hill, and now, their spirit can't find peace and has to haunt big-breasted teenage girls and their boyfriends on spring break. This isn't religion. These are ignorant superstitions from a Bulgarian mountain village in the 13Th century.
And one in three Americans believes in it.
Hey, but don't worry about this horrible fact - it's not like those loonies have a right to vote or hold public office.
Oh... wait...
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Come to the US and..
Madelyn explains a brilliant scheme that could recover the fledgling US economy.
By: Madelyn
Last night I got to some heavy thinking while I was doing some heavy drinking.
Let's face it - US economy is totally screwed. One Euro is what now, 1.43 dollars or something; folks, we're in one big pile of crap.
That whole story got me so down I simply had to clear my head in a bottle of vodka.
After one hour and few false ''through-up'' alarms, it hit me.
Euro - the solution to our problems.
I mean, the Europeans. Sure, they are up tight and pompous and have a knack for losing wars, but now, they got cash.
And what Europies like?
Drugs? Yes, but they can score easier at home that here.
Alcohol? They got better booze than we do.
High-tech crap? Sure, but not ours. You can't even use IPhone over there, and really, that all we got that isn't still in every Japanese pocket.
Sex, you wonder. But they have Netherlands and what not, and there it's 100% legal.
Yes, it is. But is also expensive.
We, the old and young, from all corners of our proud country, could sell our bodies and love techniques to them.
Their money is worth a lot more here.
Plus, honestly, the whole world masturbates to US porn. There isn't a guy in Europe that fantasizes about some 19-year-old trafficked Romanian peasant girl in a shady Amsterdam apartment; they want an all-American Barbie dolls with fake everything, to whom foreplay means deep-throat and 4-finger back door job.
The women crave some made-in-the-USA muscle, and I bet they dream about our firemen, police officers and pizza delivery boys. The homosexually oriented have an equally big selection.
They all want to do it by the poll, in the sun, while the elderly neighbors watch.
And we want them to come. If they can afford a plane ticket, they can't be poor. I'm sure they'll be polite and curious, and don't worry about sickos and serial killers; you have a bigger chance meting them in your 7-11.
The best thing is that no one has to know you sell your body to them - simply brag how your European cousins are coming for a weekend. After they leave, you can magically afford those brand new high heel Gucci shoos you wanted.
I guarantee this would recover our economy in months.
I can even see the CNN international commercial:
Come to the USA and get laid like a golden god - dirt-cheap.
By: Madelyn
Last night I got to some heavy thinking while I was doing some heavy drinking.
Let's face it - US economy is totally screwed. One Euro is what now, 1.43 dollars or something; folks, we're in one big pile of crap.
That whole story got me so down I simply had to clear my head in a bottle of vodka.
After one hour and few false ''through-up'' alarms, it hit me.
Euro - the solution to our problems.
I mean, the Europeans. Sure, they are up tight and pompous and have a knack for losing wars, but now, they got cash.
And what Europies like?
Drugs? Yes, but they can score easier at home that here.
Alcohol? They got better booze than we do.
High-tech crap? Sure, but not ours. You can't even use IPhone over there, and really, that all we got that isn't still in every Japanese pocket.
Sex, you wonder. But they have Netherlands and what not, and there it's 100% legal.
Yes, it is. But is also expensive.
We, the old and young, from all corners of our proud country, could sell our bodies and love techniques to them.
Their money is worth a lot more here.
Plus, honestly, the whole world masturbates to US porn. There isn't a guy in Europe that fantasizes about some 19-year-old trafficked Romanian peasant girl in a shady Amsterdam apartment; they want an all-American Barbie dolls with fake everything, to whom foreplay means deep-throat and 4-finger back door job.
The women crave some made-in-the-USA muscle, and I bet they dream about our firemen, police officers and pizza delivery boys. The homosexually oriented have an equally big selection.
They all want to do it by the poll, in the sun, while the elderly neighbors watch.
And we want them to come. If they can afford a plane ticket, they can't be poor. I'm sure they'll be polite and curious, and don't worry about sickos and serial killers; you have a bigger chance meting them in your 7-11.
The best thing is that no one has to know you sell your body to them - simply brag how your European cousins are coming for a weekend. After they leave, you can magically afford those brand new high heel Gucci shoos you wanted.
I guarantee this would recover our economy in months.
I can even see the CNN international commercial:
Come to the USA and get laid like a golden god - dirt-cheap.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
It's a lull!
There appears that Mag13 entered some kind of weird creative lull.
I haven't received a single new article on any subject for some time, and now our page is looking like picture of Britney Spears vagina - like very old news. I know a lot of you people, our faithful audience, are getting worried about the state of things in the Mag13-land, but have no fear; our article-makers are working hard, only not with their hands but with their brains!
While in bed, watching TV.
Now, I have to write about something. That way I can throw sand in your eyes, and misleading you about our collective laziness.
So... umm... let's see... Bush, no... IPhone, no, no... Iranian nuclear crisis... I got it!
Say, what about those new pictures of Britney Spears crotch? Ain't they just swell?
She look a little more appealing that the last time, now that she has all that alcohol and drugs in her system that keep her slim. I guess those photos are going to get a lot more masturbation attention that the last ones. You know, the ones that showed surgery scars and strange hygiene standards.
Anyway, we are all glad that she has bounced back. We are even happier about the fact that in few years everyone, including us, will have a chance to have unprotected sex with her in some public bathroom for 5$.
Yes, that's that...
Have to fill more space; thing damn it, think! Funny stories, funny stories...
Hey, what about Bush and his...
Ah, just forget it!
I haven't received a single new article on any subject for some time, and now our page is looking like picture of Britney Spears vagina - like very old news. I know a lot of you people, our faithful audience, are getting worried about the state of things in the Mag13-land, but have no fear; our article-makers are working hard, only not with their hands but with their brains!
While in bed, watching TV.
Now, I have to write about something. That way I can throw sand in your eyes, and misleading you about our collective laziness.
So... umm... let's see... Bush, no... IPhone, no, no... Iranian nuclear crisis... I got it!
Say, what about those new pictures of Britney Spears crotch? Ain't they just swell?
She look a little more appealing that the last time, now that she has all that alcohol and drugs in her system that keep her slim. I guess those photos are going to get a lot more masturbation attention that the last ones. You know, the ones that showed surgery scars and strange hygiene standards.
Anyway, we are all glad that she has bounced back. We are even happier about the fact that in few years everyone, including us, will have a chance to have unprotected sex with her in some public bathroom for 5$.
Yes, that's that...
Have to fill more space; thing damn it, think! Funny stories, funny stories...
Hey, what about Bush and his...
Ah, just forget it!
Saturday, October 6, 2007
I'm afraid you'll have to stay a bit longer...
Paul/Michael writes a reaction on the thing everyone despises - having to stay longer in the office. Not me, although - I work at home - hooray for me! But I guess you drones can relate, so here is the article.
By: Paul/Michael
It was a great workday.
My boss told me to make some sticker designs for an upcoming promotion. I use CorelDraw, so I decided to play around with it and experiment. When I was done, I showed it to the Man and he was pleased.
But, I also had to insert the data, a task fit for someone with less skill, but I was cool with it. There was a lot of hassle and bustle about the event, so I took one for the team. That part was incredibly boring, because the stickers were labels for some Motherboards my company was selling and presenting - they all had stupid tech names like A690 TP, P7020 PT and shit like that, and it was really hard to stayed focused. I think they decided not to use anything even remotely resembling a real name! Why the hell don't they just name them Phil or Moon station or Sandy - I hope they name their kids M30DA-7A Deluxe.
That inserting task took me only 2 hours of pure fun-fun-fun! By that time, my shift was almost over. I told my boss that I had done everything and I was just about to leave when he asked me if I had printed them out.
In that moment, I was starting to get pissed off.
I told him someone should re-check the specifications I put in, because I was sure I made some errors.
So I had to wait while some guy from accounting did that. He took his sweet time and I thought that I could kill someone right...
I'm going to take it from here. Hi, I'm Michael; you know - Paul's other self. He really got upset about that whole deal with the stickers, so I had to act up on all that built up aggression and hatred.
First, we pissed in the office coffee pot, but just a little, so no one would notice and could drink it up with pleasure. Then we downloaded some job applications from our rivals to my bosses' computer and left an anonymous message to our CEO about his double-crossing intentions.
Finally, we took the big company banner that was intended for the promotion and wrote ''We do it with pigs and chickens, friends!'' on it.
Now, I don't seem to have a problem with staying late any more. Of course, on those days, I drink tea.
By: Paul/Michael
It was a great workday.
My boss told me to make some sticker designs for an upcoming promotion. I use CorelDraw, so I decided to play around with it and experiment. When I was done, I showed it to the Man and he was pleased.
But, I also had to insert the data, a task fit for someone with less skill, but I was cool with it. There was a lot of hassle and bustle about the event, so I took one for the team. That part was incredibly boring, because the stickers were labels for some Motherboards my company was selling and presenting - they all had stupid tech names like A690 TP, P7020 PT and shit like that, and it was really hard to stayed focused. I think they decided not to use anything even remotely resembling a real name! Why the hell don't they just name them Phil or Moon station or Sandy - I hope they name their kids M30DA-7A Deluxe.
That inserting task took me only 2 hours of pure fun-fun-fun! By that time, my shift was almost over. I told my boss that I had done everything and I was just about to leave when he asked me if I had printed them out.
In that moment, I was starting to get pissed off.
I told him someone should re-check the specifications I put in, because I was sure I made some errors.
So I had to wait while some guy from accounting did that. He took his sweet time and I thought that I could kill someone right...
I'm going to take it from here. Hi, I'm Michael; you know - Paul's other self. He really got upset about that whole deal with the stickers, so I had to act up on all that built up aggression and hatred.
First, we pissed in the office coffee pot, but just a little, so no one would notice and could drink it up with pleasure. Then we downloaded some job applications from our rivals to my bosses' computer and left an anonymous message to our CEO about his double-crossing intentions.
Finally, we took the big company banner that was intended for the promotion and wrote ''We do it with pigs and chickens, friends!'' on it.
Now, I don't seem to have a problem with staying late any more. Of course, on those days, I drink tea.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Copper babysitters
Madelyn proposes a new use for the wired neural excitatory.
By: Madelyn
Hey, I know I don't know a lot about computers. If I did, I sure wouldn't let that a-hole MainE. destroyed our ranking at humor-blogs.com with his crappy editing and weak web-design. He even calls himself Main EDITOR, for Christ sake.
But, the geek idea - putting wires in the human brain - is just brilliant.
You see, they implant you with a batter/controller set, and it sends electrical signals through the wire that end up somewhere in your brain. The signals excite that particular zone, and thus create a change in your brain patterns. It's currently only used in the treatment of severe cases of epilepsy and clinical depression.
But, everybody is missing on big use for this.
Implanting it in children - on birth. But that's not all. When you come home from the hospital, you simply add them to your smart house system. After that, Hal 3000 will deal with them for the next 20 years.
I'm making no sense, right?
I'll describe my idea from a perspective of a 14-year-old boy.
His day starts around 8 in the morning.
Oh, man, my alarm clock is already ringing. No way I'm getting up, I'll sleep through the firs~
- weak electrical impulse -
I'm up. Now I'll pack up and make myself a healthy breakfast. Maybe I'll eat some candy~
- weak electrical impulse -
No candy, it's unhealthy. I can't find my math book - hey, there's my joint. We should smoke it later~
- weak electrical impulse -
I'll flush it down the toilet. Winners don't use drugs. And I'm a winner! I play football, although I hate it~
- weak electrical impulse -
I love football. Josh also plays in my team. I love when we sneak out and kiss and touch under the~
- weak electrical impulse -
I will say no to any form of homosexual activities, because I like girls. I will marry a girl one day and have children. Maybe touching a girl will fell as good as touching a boy~
- weak electrical impulse -
Of course, I will find that out when we are married in the eyes of church and state... I'm going to hang myself now!
- weak electrical impulse -
- weak electrical impulse -
No I won't. I'm off to school, because I like it.
- weak electrical impulse -
I LOVE!
See? It's a perfect upbringing, and it has a ''Intel inside'' sticker.
By: Madelyn
Hey, I know I don't know a lot about computers. If I did, I sure wouldn't let that a-hole MainE. destroyed our ranking at humor-blogs.com with his crappy editing and weak web-design. He even calls himself Main EDITOR, for Christ sake.
But, the geek idea - putting wires in the human brain - is just brilliant.
You see, they implant you with a batter/controller set, and it sends electrical signals through the wire that end up somewhere in your brain. The signals excite that particular zone, and thus create a change in your brain patterns. It's currently only used in the treatment of severe cases of epilepsy and clinical depression.
But, everybody is missing on big use for this.
Implanting it in children - on birth. But that's not all. When you come home from the hospital, you simply add them to your smart house system. After that, Hal 3000 will deal with them for the next 20 years.
I'm making no sense, right?
I'll describe my idea from a perspective of a 14-year-old boy.
His day starts around 8 in the morning.
Oh, man, my alarm clock is already ringing. No way I'm getting up, I'll sleep through the firs~
- weak electrical impulse -
I'm up. Now I'll pack up and make myself a healthy breakfast. Maybe I'll eat some candy~
- weak electrical impulse -
No candy, it's unhealthy. I can't find my math book - hey, there's my joint. We should smoke it later~
- weak electrical impulse -
I'll flush it down the toilet. Winners don't use drugs. And I'm a winner! I play football, although I hate it~
- weak electrical impulse -
I love football. Josh also plays in my team. I love when we sneak out and kiss and touch under the~
- weak electrical impulse -
I will say no to any form of homosexual activities, because I like girls. I will marry a girl one day and have children. Maybe touching a girl will fell as good as touching a boy~
- weak electrical impulse -
Of course, I will find that out when we are married in the eyes of church and state... I'm going to hang myself now!
- weak electrical impulse -
- weak electrical impulse -
No I won't. I'm off to school, because I like it.
- weak electrical impulse -
I LOVE!
See? It's a perfect upbringing, and it has a ''Intel inside'' sticker.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Marryourdaughter.biz - boy, we'll believe anything
Don't know if you heard about it, but this story is awesome.
Everything began with the www.marryourdaughter.biz. This site offers a service - it will, as you can probably conclude from the title - find marriage opportunities for girls. Their pages show a long list of girls, aged 13 to 17, alongside their short background, likes and don't likes, and a price tag. Yes, a price, ranging from 20K to almost 50K.
So, as a potential suitor, you pay, let's say, 35 000 $ to the parents and in return get their daughter to be your lawfully married wife.
Oh, the humanity! - public cried out when the news about this site reached the eyes and the ears of the forever concerned. Why, this is unmoral! Girls that young, off to get married to some old sick pervert who found this site while looking for his next hit of kiddie porn. It's pure evil, and although not strictly illegal, it sure as shit wrong - said the worried housewife to her equally worried neighbor.
But, guess what? It is not real.
You can't even call this a prank, because it is a full-blown parody. Here's why:
1. They show Google ads on every page. Sites that do business in that price range don't show other people's ads. It would be like having a store and a gigantic sign that reads: ''The store down the street is 10 times better.''
2. Their Customer Service Co-Ordinator is called Jarrod Hightower. That name is number 7. on the ''Top 100 stupid fake names''.
Of course, if you're a religious crusader for children rights or any other kind of moral defender, I guess you don't know a lot about the Internet or similar ''Devil products'', so you can be forgiven for believing this humorous site is real.
But, you could have at least read some of the testimonials - comments left by satisfied customers, or in this case, the parents that sold their daughters.
''Our 15 year old daughter Mary wasn’t very popular and did nothing but mope around the house bringing everybody down, so we decided to marry her off through your site. Now our house is a lot cheerier and we love our new swimming pool and Jaccuzi! We’ve told our youngest that when she turns 15 we’re going to marry her off too! ''
This one should have been enough.
Anyway, just so you know, Magazine13 just opened an on-line service that lets you take a malnourished Somali child and drop him or her in a pool filled with sharks and acid. We charge 5$ per drop.
Write to your representative in Congress about our disgraceful and immoral business, and don't forget to bitch about it on your local talk shows.
Everything began with the www.marryourdaughter.biz. This site offers a service - it will, as you can probably conclude from the title - find marriage opportunities for girls. Their pages show a long list of girls, aged 13 to 17, alongside their short background, likes and don't likes, and a price tag. Yes, a price, ranging from 20K to almost 50K.
So, as a potential suitor, you pay, let's say, 35 000 $ to the parents and in return get their daughter to be your lawfully married wife.
Oh, the humanity! - public cried out when the news about this site reached the eyes and the ears of the forever concerned. Why, this is unmoral! Girls that young, off to get married to some old sick pervert who found this site while looking for his next hit of kiddie porn. It's pure evil, and although not strictly illegal, it sure as shit wrong - said the worried housewife to her equally worried neighbor.
But, guess what? It is not real.
You can't even call this a prank, because it is a full-blown parody. Here's why:
1. They show Google ads on every page. Sites that do business in that price range don't show other people's ads. It would be like having a store and a gigantic sign that reads: ''The store down the street is 10 times better.''
2. Their Customer Service Co-Ordinator is called Jarrod Hightower. That name is number 7. on the ''Top 100 stupid fake names''.
Of course, if you're a religious crusader for children rights or any other kind of moral defender, I guess you don't know a lot about the Internet or similar ''Devil products'', so you can be forgiven for believing this humorous site is real.
But, you could have at least read some of the testimonials - comments left by satisfied customers, or in this case, the parents that sold their daughters.
''Our 15 year old daughter Mary wasn’t very popular and did nothing but mope around the house bringing everybody down, so we decided to marry her off through your site. Now our house is a lot cheerier and we love our new swimming pool and Jaccuzi! We’ve told our youngest that when she turns 15 we’re going to marry her off too! ''
This one should have been enough.
Anyway, just so you know, Magazine13 just opened an on-line service that lets you take a malnourished Somali child and drop him or her in a pool filled with sharks and acid. We charge 5$ per drop.
Write to your representative in Congress about our disgraceful and immoral business, and don't forget to bitch about it on your local talk shows.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
The most polluted place in the world
Grandpa Milo writes about... well, the title is really self-explanatory.
By: Grandpa Milo
Blacksmith technical advisory board.
Apparently, that's some kind of environmental organization. They publicized a report called ''Top 10 most polluted places in the world.''
And guess what? You live in the number 3!
I'm kidding! Hahaha - got you there!
Relax, if you're reading this there's no way you live in any of those places.
You have an Internet connection and can read English, and I can bet you also have a home and eat at least 2 times a day. So, I'm almost certain you didn't cut the list.
Maybe next year. Or just start polluting on your own, and hope someone from the Blacksmith technical advisory board notices.
The most polluted place on planet is called Kabwe, and it's located in Zambia. A big lead mining industry was built there, and now metals like lead, cadmium, copper, and zinc are everywhere. By everywhere, I mean in the soil, water, dust, locally grown food, and let's not forget - the locals.
Around 255 000 people are directly affected, and on average, children have blood lead levels just below the fatal amount.
Ah, the joy of growing up near those lead mines.
The situation is so bad that even Chernobyl was rated as less polluted.
But, there is hope. According to the Blacksmith technical advisory board, they are helping NGO bring information to the local residents about all the downsides of having lead around. Here are some of the advices:
1. Do not eat food from your area - you make 5$ a month, so go and buy some naturally grown macrobiotic meals from Netherlands.
2. Do not allow your children to play in the dirt. They should go to boarding schools in France, or play in one of the hermetically sealed rooms you certainly have in your 5x5 mud hut.
3. Try not to inhale air in the 20 miles circle around the mine.
4. Move to Hawaii.
I know you fell badly for all those poor people that have to go trough lead poisoning - you shouldn't. Soon, they'll be more informed about it.
Sure, they'll continue to die from it same as always, but you have to take baby steps with things like fatal long-term lead contamination.
By: Grandpa Milo
Blacksmith technical advisory board.
Apparently, that's some kind of environmental organization. They publicized a report called ''Top 10 most polluted places in the world.''
And guess what? You live in the number 3!
I'm kidding! Hahaha - got you there!
Relax, if you're reading this there's no way you live in any of those places.
You have an Internet connection and can read English, and I can bet you also have a home and eat at least 2 times a day. So, I'm almost certain you didn't cut the list.
Maybe next year. Or just start polluting on your own, and hope someone from the Blacksmith technical advisory board notices.
The most polluted place on planet is called Kabwe, and it's located in Zambia. A big lead mining industry was built there, and now metals like lead, cadmium, copper, and zinc are everywhere. By everywhere, I mean in the soil, water, dust, locally grown food, and let's not forget - the locals.
Around 255 000 people are directly affected, and on average, children have blood lead levels just below the fatal amount.
Ah, the joy of growing up near those lead mines.
The situation is so bad that even Chernobyl was rated as less polluted.
But, there is hope. According to the Blacksmith technical advisory board, they are helping NGO bring information to the local residents about all the downsides of having lead around. Here are some of the advices:
1. Do not eat food from your area - you make 5$ a month, so go and buy some naturally grown macrobiotic meals from Netherlands.
2. Do not allow your children to play in the dirt. They should go to boarding schools in France, or play in one of the hermetically sealed rooms you certainly have in your 5x5 mud hut.
3. Try not to inhale air in the 20 miles circle around the mine.
4. Move to Hawaii.
I know you fell badly for all those poor people that have to go trough lead poisoning - you shouldn't. Soon, they'll be more informed about it.
Sure, they'll continue to die from it same as always, but you have to take baby steps with things like fatal long-term lead contamination.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Christ Samurai /Ninja/Robot Believers!
You'll love this book.
It's called ''The Way of the Christian Samurai'' and I ran across it by chance. I didn't read it, but its premise is absolutely brilliant. It compares Samurai warriors of old Japan with modern, devoted Christians. For example, Samurai were in the service of their Lord and were ready to lay down their lives for him, exactly as good Christians are, or should be in the service of their Lord, who isn't, in this case, a fat Japanese man from the middle ages, but God himself.
Now, I have seen a lot of stupid ideas, but this one is high on the scoreboard. Samurai were probably on the complete opposite end of all Christian values.
First of all, their job was to KILL, and I remember something about the 10 commandments being against killing. They were professional soldiers, and created an entire philosophy (bushido) that rejects life itself. Of course, they did this to decrease or even totally eliminate their fear of death and thus become even more efficient killing machines. Maybe that's what Jesus wants these days?
Also, they respected suicide immensely, and often killed themselves by cutting out their intestines (seppuku) for, from today's standards, trivial matters. Suicide is, as far as I know, also No-No for Christians.
And how about the habit of testing new swords on prisoners and criminals - you can't be sure your new bling-bling katana is good unless you decapitate a few doesn't random captives. Similar to Christianity, mercy was obviously very valued by Samurai.
Finally, let's not forget their love for man-love. In feudal Japan, it was common practice that younger warriors become lovers to older and more experience ones. Ah, man-on-man anal sex - so Christian, don't you think?
So, let's not forget: Samurai were mindless, merciless killers, military drilled from childhood and ready to do anything for their Lord. If that's what Christianity is looking for today, Samurai would be a dead-on choice.
It's called ''The Way of the Christian Samurai'' and I ran across it by chance. I didn't read it, but its premise is absolutely brilliant. It compares Samurai warriors of old Japan with modern, devoted Christians. For example, Samurai were in the service of their Lord and were ready to lay down their lives for him, exactly as good Christians are, or should be in the service of their Lord, who isn't, in this case, a fat Japanese man from the middle ages, but God himself.
Now, I have seen a lot of stupid ideas, but this one is high on the scoreboard. Samurai were probably on the complete opposite end of all Christian values.
First of all, their job was to KILL, and I remember something about the 10 commandments being against killing. They were professional soldiers, and created an entire philosophy (bushido) that rejects life itself. Of course, they did this to decrease or even totally eliminate their fear of death and thus become even more efficient killing machines. Maybe that's what Jesus wants these days?
Also, they respected suicide immensely, and often killed themselves by cutting out their intestines (seppuku) for, from today's standards, trivial matters. Suicide is, as far as I know, also No-No for Christians.
And how about the habit of testing new swords on prisoners and criminals - you can't be sure your new bling-bling katana is good unless you decapitate a few doesn't random captives. Similar to Christianity, mercy was obviously very valued by Samurai.
Finally, let's not forget their love for man-love. In feudal Japan, it was common practice that younger warriors become lovers to older and more experience ones. Ah, man-on-man anal sex - so Christian, don't you think?
So, let's not forget: Samurai were mindless, merciless killers, military drilled from childhood and ready to do anything for their Lord. If that's what Christianity is looking for today, Samurai would be a dead-on choice.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Lebanon - a working holiday
In the next article from our on going '''2007 Vacation Season'' series read where Snake spent his time-off.By: Snake
I bet not one of you people thought about visiting Lebanon this summer. Well, you were wrong. If you work as a mercenary, that is.
Let me tell you, that country is super. You can smell the sweet odor of war in the air.
You know that Israel fought a mini-war in the south last year, but something is telling me even bigger things are on the way. For someone like myself, although I'm not saying I am an actual mercenary or partake in any illegal or immoral activities (like arms trading, let's say) Lebanon is the place to be.
First of all, you have the Hezbollah. Those guys are always looking for some primo do dads, and the money is no biggie. Of course, it's preferable that you are of Muslim faith, but if not, a 10% discharge will seal the deal.
In the similar category is the Fatah Islam group. They are a little more on the fundamental head-chopping side, but if you bring gifts, preferably ones that go BOOM, you're more than welcome to their holly struggle. The only problem is that most of them are currently in Nahr el-Bared camp, where they're fighting an on going battle with the Army. So, if you can get in, and you don't mind the daily bombardment and sniper fire - it's going to be a blast.
But that medal has another face- the Army. They are underequipped, inexperienced and pretty much clueless about fighting. And who said that you have to shoot anyone yourself - you could become an instructor. The Army is multi-religious, so your belief system shouldn't be a problem. Don't expect to get rich, though. They use some ancient APC, so I guess they aren't exactly loaded.
Finally, you have the civilian population, who, like you and me (the ''maybe I am, maybe I'm not'' mercenaries and war traders) can see the blood & tissue writing on the wall. They know that the shit is about to hit the fan, and they want to buy some heat, ASAP. The price of small arms has tripled this year alone, and a new M-16, freshly stolen from a dead US Marine in Iraq is worth up to 10 000$. How do ya' like them apples?
Also, you have the Jewish, Christian, Sunni and Shiite communities, so, depending on your background, you'll be a welcomed sight in at lest one of them, except if you're a Buddhist dog of war, in which case you shouldn't be there anyway (Asia has a lot of working/playing opportunities, so don't come here and crowd the place)
I was there (or maybe I wasn't) for a few weeks, and now I bought myself an IPhone, XBox and there's a brand new jacuzzi sitting in my backyard. I also have a new offshore account in the Cayman Islands.
And you know what? I'm planning a new trip!
In short:
The good: upcoming civil war from hell
The bad: a peace process that would actually bring peace (yeah, right)
The ugly: look up ''the good''
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Kid Nation for everyone
Madelyn writes about the new CBS reality show ''Kid Nation''.
By: Madelyn
I didn't even see one episode of the ''Kid Nation'' series, but you know what - I love it. It's just completely awesome.
Not because of its entertaining value or the controversial premise. Who cares about that?
CBS takes your kids away for 40 days and gives you 5000$ in return! You get a good 4-week holiday with no nagging, crying and bitching about everything. You don't have to get up at 05:05 to start making breakfast or drive miles and miles to pick up your brats from school. You get your freedom, even if it has to end in 40 days. At least you will spend it in Heaven.
At the same time, your children will be given real tasks and jobs in some abandoned desert backwater town. They'll have to sweat and work - the exact thing you and I do every day. Believe me, they won't like it, and that's a good thing. Maybe after that they'll appreciate all we had to sacrifice so that some little Brandon or Timmy could get their copy of ''World of Warcraft'' , and show some gratitude for a change.
Of course, there's a minimal chance that your kid will die or be horribly injured in some kind of freakish cooking accident, drink rat poison or fall in an open mine shaft, but that can happen anywhere, anytime and no one will pay you 5K+''CBS mourns the loss of your child'' bonus.
As I see it, there's only one thing missing in the show concept.
Similar kid jails... I mean reality show sets for the whole population. And those 40 days could easily become 80. Or even 120.
God bless TV.
Friday, August 17, 2007
You can tell it's Chin... Thaila... Mattel?
Read a two-for-one comment on recent recall of millions of Mattel toys as different parts of Paul / Michael psyche have a not-so-constructive debate.
By: Paul / Michael
Here's a stupid decision. Recall 9 million valuable products because of a few drops of lead paint. Now, every parent will make their kid lick new toys so they could sue someone if something like this happens again.
It's not just about the paint. Toy trains had small but powerful magnets that can fall out. What if some child had swalloved one?
So what? It would only make them look cool in school. They could do magic tricks with their newly magnetic belly.
It can kill them.
Oh, come on. We ate some magnets when we were young, right?
No, we newer did.
OK, maybe not exactly magnets, but we definitely ate or inhaled some stupid things. And what is wrong with us, eh?
We have a very severe mental illness. Right now, you and me are talking to no one and writing it down. Enough?
And that's because we inhaled GI Joe's miniature plastic helmet 20+ years ago?
It was his gun. But that's besides the point; we can't take any risk when there are helpless children involved.
Oh, so it's about the helpless children, is it? Well, where are those toys coming from?
China.
Right. And who is making them - little, penniless Chinese children. Those toy factories are their only livelyhood, and the recall is going to close most of them down. Not only that, the Government is probably going to execute the upper management for failing the economy. In a few days, little Huan Che will come home and ask: ''Mommy, where is daddy? Is he still in the office? ''. His mother will answer in tears: ''No, honey, we are going to get him. Give mommy the wallet, we have to pay the bill for one AK-47 round.''
Of course, no one will kill hundreds of 11-year-old workers - they are going to die of hunger on the streets.
Hey man, it's our kids or theirs. That's what happens when you make lousy goods.
We made Windows Vista.
Oh right... Damn...
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Italy/Schmitaly
Granpa Milo visited "The Big European Boot". Find out what he thought about it.
By: Grandpa Milo
To be honest, I never wanted to travel to Italy. I don't like pizza, all cathedrals look the same to me, and Italians are just too loud. Golly gosh, if you had ever told me that I would be visiting Vatican along side 100 Japanese tourists with cameras and white hats, I would have told you to put down your dope pipe.
Sadly, my wife was the one who told me that I was going with her - or she won't be coming back.
I had been living with her for the last few decades, so I knew she meant business.
Couple of days later, we were on our merry way to the land of greasy food and hair.
And, my God was it terrible.
The flight to Italy lasted 13 hours. In the end, my back felt like I was the star quarterback in a team that has the worst defence in the NFL. After that, we had to get a cab. That episode lasted another 2 hours. Rome is like some third world metropolis - narrow streets and millions of cars driven by bad drivers. Ours kept saying: "...you like...you like..." Well, me no like you, Francesco, Franco or whatever your name was, you irritating bastard.
Finally, we got there - the hotel was all right, but the service was pure crap. I felt like I was sleeping with distant relatives that didn't want me there. I eventually found out that this attitude is ever present over there - everybody is grumpy and passive aggressive.
Of course, my old lady was delighted - the architecture, the culture, and all the other ... ture. But let me tell you - it's just a bunch of old ruined buildings. I could have seen that in Detroit. Even writing about it makes my blood pressure rise.
The only thing I was looking forward to was the booze. Italy is famous for its wines. Well, the good ones are very expensive and I wasn't in the mood for big spending; the affordable ones taste like and probably were pissed in.
After a long 10 days, the vacation was over, and we were on a plane.
I had to watch ''Shakespeare in Love'' twice. Perfect ending for a perfect vacation in the land that invented organized crime syndicates.
In short...
The good: sleeping and forgetting
The bad: every other type of consciousness that made me suffer that god-forsaken country
The ugly: pizza makers that pick their nose while making dough
Monday, August 6, 2007
''2007 Vacation Season'' - My Croatian vacation
Being that Magazine13 exists solely because I mastered the secret arts of file uploading and basic HTML editing, and therefore run our little operation here, it has been decided that I should have the privilege of writing the first article from the announced ''07 Vacation Season'' series.
Well, where-oh-where did I go (ignore the subtle clue in the title)?
To the Mediterranean sun and sea, children, or, more precisely, to the small state on the Adriatic Sea called - Croatia.
Maybe you have heard of it; CNN has been running its commercials for the last few months. And, I've got to tell you: it wasn't half bad. Actually, it was friggin' great!
The coastline is spectacular, full of small coves, hidden beaches, and isolated islands. The sea is very clean (there is virtually no heavy shipping) and has an ideal temperature. Its not too hot or too cold, but its very refreshing.
Although Croatia fought a bitter and bloody, well, you could say a regular civil war during the early 90ties, those times are clearly gone. No one is going postal with an AK-47 and there are no small children from Norway getting blown up by land mines while playing boy scouts.
People are very pleasant and open, but not in an artificial manner that screams: ''Give us your money, stupid tourists!'' and the infrastructure, especially the highways and accommodation are worthy of EU standards (and even above them, having in mind that Bulgaria and Romania are also in EU)
All in all, I had 2 weeks of pure Mediterranean relaxation.
I'll sum it up for you:
The good: sea&sun, local food, people, roads
The bad: beer. I tried two locally brewed beers that made it to my top 10 worst drinks ever - one is called Favorite! Only if you've lost your sense of taste.
The ugly: Very old German couples going commando on a non-nudist beach.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
We're baaaack!
Drink and be merry; our collective vacation is over, and the complete Mag13 staff is back.
Some of us traveled to regular tourist destinations, others to distant, mystical places where they found deep spirituality, together with cheap prostitution and dog fight pits. Some writers even decided to stay at home and work double time with their psychotherapists (why travel abroad, when you can travel to your troubled childhood). The good news is - we all came back free of STD's (new ones, at least) and without a single international arrest warrant. And really, what more can you ask for?
From now on, Magazine13 is back in business, and you can read all about our summer experience in the upcoming ''2007 Vacation Season'' series.
Some of us traveled to regular tourist destinations, others to distant, mystical places where they found deep spirituality, together with cheap prostitution and dog fight pits. Some writers even decided to stay at home and work double time with their psychotherapists (why travel abroad, when you can travel to your troubled childhood). The good news is - we all came back free of STD's (new ones, at least) and without a single international arrest warrant. And really, what more can you ask for?
From now on, Magazine13 is back in business, and you can read all about our summer experience in the upcoming ''2007 Vacation Season'' series.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Blog's out for summer!
Well, it's been a bumpy ride so far, but we got here. 13 posts, one real reply, one spam reply on Spanish or Portuguese, not sure (the guy is selling t-shirts or something similar), but we still have faith in the future greater audience. Any way, we, the staff and the writers, had unanimously agreed that things are going really good for Magazine13, and we had decided to take a little break. Don't expect any activities around here until early august, because we'll be on some tropical island, doing local legal drugs and enjoying the Japanese nuclear power plant polluted and warmed by the green house effect crystal clear ocean waters.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Australians in Iraq - where, where?
Snake examines a possible new role for the Australian troops in Iraq.
By: Snake
Recently, Brendan Nelson (for everyone outside that continent - that's the Australian defense minister) admitted that the security of oil supplies was one of the main reasons for Australia's engagement in the 2003 Iraq invasion. That made a real buzz on the international scene - Australian prime minister denied it, White House denied any knowledge about oil reserves in Iraq, and even Nelson admitted that he was probably drunk, stoned and maybe even under some kind of telepathic fundamentalist mind control while giving the statement.
It's reported that CIA is working on a way to send a ninja-agent back in time; she (all good ninjas are, in fact, female) could then stop this embarrassing stamen from occurring by killing Brendan's grandmother, or the inventor of radio - waves (it was a radio interview).
But, alas, it's all in vain. The sad truth is out there. And the public is shocked like a nun on a trampoline - they are in it for the money; I mean oil. Golly-gosh! Of course, I've seen too much sick shit to be surprised by the fact that people get surprised by the things they all ready know, but it's still amusing. And, that's not the main point here.
The real shocker is - Australia has 1500 troops stationed in Iraq! And that's since the invasion, meaning the last 4 years.
What the hell do they actually do? Are they interior decorators? Army bloggers? They sure don't fight - have you ever seen a headline: ''XY Australian troops die in a roadside attack''. I haven't.
Where are they stationed? Not in Anbar. Not in the south, or Baghdad, or in the north. Are they underground, fighting the Al Kaida's mutant cave dwelling crab-people? Because, it sounds to me like they are... How should I put it - evading the El Grande Shitstorm.
And please, don't tell me they are working in logistics or planning or something intelectual like that. I served with Aussies, and there's no way to keep them away from the bottle. When planes start falling from the sky, be sure there's a drunken guy from Sidney sleeping on the radar.
Frankly, who can blame them? It's not that anyone would rush to fight in Iraq.
But, I have a proposition. Australians should train local militias. It doesn't matter if they are Sunny or Shia, as long as they spend some time with them. Why? Because, although they are lousy, drunk, half ass soldiers; they are great people. Funny, laid back, into sports, always ready to party. Besides them, every fundamentalist has to mellow out at least a little.
This way, everybody's happy. Aussies can sit on their asses and dick around with the locals (who already know enough about fighting from real life experience), and the recruits can hang around some of the best guys on Earth.
I'm a strategic genius.
By: Snake
Recently, Brendan Nelson (for everyone outside that continent - that's the Australian defense minister) admitted that the security of oil supplies was one of the main reasons for Australia's engagement in the 2003 Iraq invasion. That made a real buzz on the international scene - Australian prime minister denied it, White House denied any knowledge about oil reserves in Iraq, and even Nelson admitted that he was probably drunk, stoned and maybe even under some kind of telepathic fundamentalist mind control while giving the statement.
It's reported that CIA is working on a way to send a ninja-agent back in time; she (all good ninjas are, in fact, female) could then stop this embarrassing stamen from occurring by killing Brendan's grandmother, or the inventor of radio - waves (it was a radio interview).
But, alas, it's all in vain. The sad truth is out there. And the public is shocked like a nun on a trampoline - they are in it for the money; I mean oil. Golly-gosh! Of course, I've seen too much sick shit to be surprised by the fact that people get surprised by the things they all ready know, but it's still amusing. And, that's not the main point here.
The real shocker is - Australia has 1500 troops stationed in Iraq! And that's since the invasion, meaning the last 4 years.
What the hell do they actually do? Are they interior decorators? Army bloggers? They sure don't fight - have you ever seen a headline: ''XY Australian troops die in a roadside attack''. I haven't.
Where are they stationed? Not in Anbar. Not in the south, or Baghdad, or in the north. Are they underground, fighting the Al Kaida's mutant cave dwelling crab-people? Because, it sounds to me like they are... How should I put it - evading the El Grande Shitstorm.
And please, don't tell me they are working in logistics or planning or something intelectual like that. I served with Aussies, and there's no way to keep them away from the bottle. When planes start falling from the sky, be sure there's a drunken guy from Sidney sleeping on the radar.
Frankly, who can blame them? It's not that anyone would rush to fight in Iraq.
But, I have a proposition. Australians should train local militias. It doesn't matter if they are Sunny or Shia, as long as they spend some time with them. Why? Because, although they are lousy, drunk, half ass soldiers; they are great people. Funny, laid back, into sports, always ready to party. Besides them, every fundamentalist has to mellow out at least a little.
This way, everybody's happy. Aussies can sit on their asses and dick around with the locals (who already know enough about fighting from real life experience), and the recruits can hang around some of the best guys on Earth.
I'm a strategic genius.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Crafty MS
Microsoft has launched a new catchy slogan ''People ready Business '' that the majority doesn't quite understand. Read Grandpa decode these 3 mysterious words.
By: Grandpa Milo
People-ready Business
After I heard this new MS slogan my first reaction was probably similar to everyone else's.
I thought it was great! Although I heard many good slogans during my many years, such as ''Just do it'', ''Let's rebuild now'', ''who's your daddy?'' P-R-B immediately got a place in my hall of fame. I mean; it stuck with me like some kind of a strange, unidentified, tropical sexually transmitted diesis. I simply can't get it out of my head. Just yesterday, my kids and grandkids came to visit me. They asked me if I still had that annoying back pain, and I replied in an instant - ''People-ready Business''. Heh, can you imagine that! They all immediately assumed I developed Alzheimer's, and would die soon. Well, sorry to disappoint you, ungrateful bloodsuckers, but I'm not dying any time soon, thank you very much.
Why am I so infatuated with that simple slogan? After all, I can barely use a computer (and for me, it continues to be an over rated electric typing machine), Internet is 95% porn and 5% terrorist clubhouse, and soon, freakish robots will rebel and destroy humanity. I think like that, well, because I, like all seniors, have a deep, unreasonable suspicion about everything new.
Yet I love P-R-B, and here's why.
Nowadays, every new commercial and promotional campaign is built around some pathetic softy-softy idea. Animated street thug is suddenly starting to help everyone, and so should we (after a few Cokes, naturally); then there's that mobile phone ''there's a thing in my pocket'' commercial, telling us we are all different and special in our own way (even more if we all have the same silly phone). The list goes on, and even the major heavy industries are on the emotional train - oil giants like Shell and Texaco are doing the environmentally friendly routine, saving baby monkeys, building windmills, and planting trees on every TV screen around.
It makes me sick.
Companies shouldn't fight for the environment - what will all those lazy hippie stoners from Greenpeace do? I don't want my phone telling me I'm special; I want it to have longer battery life, and I don't care if the production process of that battery killed off a few endangered species. Most of all, I definitely don't want Coca-cola teaching me how to be a good citizen (I know a lot of you fat gamers out there are screaming about that GTA and how Coca-cola only made a parody; but believe me - you're still being brainwashed by it).
And that's why Microsoft ''People-ready Business'' is great - it's all about business. If you read it carefully, you'll realize it's not about you or me or Chinese children working in sweet shops; it's about business. That business is ready for people, and not the other way around. Some huge structure, totally independent from humanity and just seemingly run by real people is ready for more humans. It doesn't matter if you'll buy its product or work for it - it's ready for you, and it wants you - now. Your needs and desires are irrelevant, your emotions pointless. Business doesn't care about humanity, our global warming and bad TV channels; to it, we're just sustenance, and it needs us like an engine needs fuel or a T-Rex needed other dinosaur's flesh.
Henry Ford would understand that concept; so would Rupert Murdock and the Borg.
So forget how special you really are, or how renewable energy sources can save the planet, because good old hard business is back in business, and it's finished with all the fake bullcrap.
By: Grandpa Milo
People-ready Business
After I heard this new MS slogan my first reaction was probably similar to everyone else's.
I thought it was great! Although I heard many good slogans during my many years, such as ''Just do it'', ''Let's rebuild now'', ''who's your daddy?'' P-R-B immediately got a place in my hall of fame. I mean; it stuck with me like some kind of a strange, unidentified, tropical sexually transmitted diesis. I simply can't get it out of my head. Just yesterday, my kids and grandkids came to visit me. They asked me if I still had that annoying back pain, and I replied in an instant - ''People-ready Business''. Heh, can you imagine that! They all immediately assumed I developed Alzheimer's, and would die soon. Well, sorry to disappoint you, ungrateful bloodsuckers, but I'm not dying any time soon, thank you very much.
Why am I so infatuated with that simple slogan? After all, I can barely use a computer (and for me, it continues to be an over rated electric typing machine), Internet is 95% porn and 5% terrorist clubhouse, and soon, freakish robots will rebel and destroy humanity. I think like that, well, because I, like all seniors, have a deep, unreasonable suspicion about everything new.
Yet I love P-R-B, and here's why.
Nowadays, every new commercial and promotional campaign is built around some pathetic softy-softy idea. Animated street thug is suddenly starting to help everyone, and so should we (after a few Cokes, naturally); then there's that mobile phone ''there's a thing in my pocket'' commercial, telling us we are all different and special in our own way (even more if we all have the same silly phone). The list goes on, and even the major heavy industries are on the emotional train - oil giants like Shell and Texaco are doing the environmentally friendly routine, saving baby monkeys, building windmills, and planting trees on every TV screen around.
It makes me sick.
Companies shouldn't fight for the environment - what will all those lazy hippie stoners from Greenpeace do? I don't want my phone telling me I'm special; I want it to have longer battery life, and I don't care if the production process of that battery killed off a few endangered species. Most of all, I definitely don't want Coca-cola teaching me how to be a good citizen (I know a lot of you fat gamers out there are screaming about that GTA and how Coca-cola only made a parody; but believe me - you're still being brainwashed by it).
And that's why Microsoft ''People-ready Business'' is great - it's all about business. If you read it carefully, you'll realize it's not about you or me or Chinese children working in sweet shops; it's about business. That business is ready for people, and not the other way around. Some huge structure, totally independent from humanity and just seemingly run by real people is ready for more humans. It doesn't matter if you'll buy its product or work for it - it's ready for you, and it wants you - now. Your needs and desires are irrelevant, your emotions pointless. Business doesn't care about humanity, our global warming and bad TV channels; to it, we're just sustenance, and it needs us like an engine needs fuel or a T-Rex needed other dinosaur's flesh.
Henry Ford would understand that concept; so would Rupert Murdock and the Borg.
So forget how special you really are, or how renewable energy sources can save the planet, because good old hard business is back in business, and it's finished with all the fake bullcrap.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Me and the Sun had a fight
Paul / Michael writes about his relationship whit the Sun.
By: Paul / Michael
One of these days, I'll simply leave. Just like that. And then, the Sun will be so sad and lonely that it won't see any reason to keep on living.
After that, it'll explode and kill everyone on Earth, even those who are, at that time, on the dark side of the planet. Now, I know you're thinking: '' There's no way that any Sun-explosion could kill people even on the dark side'' but, believe me, it could. Easy.
I watched a documentary about it.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the middle.
Sun is my friend. We hang out during the day, when the Moon or that clown from McDonalds can't bother us. Sun is a really cool guy (or a girl, I'm too polite to ask) and we can talk or mind-swap about anything. I wake up, go outside and Sun is already there, right on my doorstep. Usually we walk around the block, Sun and me, just chatting, while people look on with jelousy. Their eyes are wide and distant while they walk by; some even try to divert my attention away from Sun, the sons of bitches. I don't let that bother me, because I know everybody would like to be friends with Sun (you to, and don't try to deny it), and I just smile back. That's how we role, Sun and me, day in and out.
But, Sun has a big problem.
It drinks. A lot. And when it does, it makes me recite dirty songs to passers by. Then the trouble starts. Sun makes me stand on some busy intersection, and perform its so-called hits. Sun does this only to embarrass me, I'm sure, but I can't say no to my friend. So I start to scream out titles like: ''what you're looking at, fat retard?'' , ''gimmie a gun so I can clean this street from you morons'' , ''I want to drill holes in your lumpy head, ugly girl''. For some reason, people react badly to them: they push me, yell at me, curse me, threaten to call the police while others do just that. Then the police arrive, and I stop and run away. All the while, Sun laughs like mad up there, drunk like a horse. I tell you, it totally sucks.
So, one day, I decided not to take any more abuse.
I stayed at home.
I could hear Sun calling me, but I stayed quiet.
Next day, Sun told me it knew I was inside. It asked me to come out and that it stopped drinking. I didn't believe it.
The next day, Sun came back and thretened to cook me alive if I didn't come out.
That was too much.
I was prepared to leave and begin a new life in an underground cave where stupid Sun couldn't bother me. Just as I packed up and left my house in the middle of the night, the Moon stopped me. It had a message from the Sun.
It would kill itself if I leave. Moon asked me if I knew what that meant. I didn't.
It would mean BOOOM!
So, because I love you all, I decided to stay. Although Sun apologized and promised to stop drinking, a few days latter, I'm back at the corner singing ''I made out with your mamma, wife and sister, Mister Officer.''
But one of these days, I will leave it; I know I'm strong enough.
Even if it means you all have to burn to death in a gigantic Sun-explosion.
By: Paul / Michael
One of these days, I'll simply leave. Just like that. And then, the Sun will be so sad and lonely that it won't see any reason to keep on living.
After that, it'll explode and kill everyone on Earth, even those who are, at that time, on the dark side of the planet. Now, I know you're thinking: '' There's no way that any Sun-explosion could kill people even on the dark side'' but, believe me, it could. Easy.
I watched a documentary about it.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the middle.
Sun is my friend. We hang out during the day, when the Moon or that clown from McDonalds can't bother us. Sun is a really cool guy (or a girl, I'm too polite to ask) and we can talk or mind-swap about anything. I wake up, go outside and Sun is already there, right on my doorstep. Usually we walk around the block, Sun and me, just chatting, while people look on with jelousy. Their eyes are wide and distant while they walk by; some even try to divert my attention away from Sun, the sons of bitches. I don't let that bother me, because I know everybody would like to be friends with Sun (you to, and don't try to deny it), and I just smile back. That's how we role, Sun and me, day in and out.
But, Sun has a big problem.
It drinks. A lot. And when it does, it makes me recite dirty songs to passers by. Then the trouble starts. Sun makes me stand on some busy intersection, and perform its so-called hits. Sun does this only to embarrass me, I'm sure, but I can't say no to my friend. So I start to scream out titles like: ''what you're looking at, fat retard?'' , ''gimmie a gun so I can clean this street from you morons'' , ''I want to drill holes in your lumpy head, ugly girl''. For some reason, people react badly to them: they push me, yell at me, curse me, threaten to call the police while others do just that. Then the police arrive, and I stop and run away. All the while, Sun laughs like mad up there, drunk like a horse. I tell you, it totally sucks.
So, one day, I decided not to take any more abuse.
I stayed at home.
I could hear Sun calling me, but I stayed quiet.
Next day, Sun told me it knew I was inside. It asked me to come out and that it stopped drinking. I didn't believe it.
The next day, Sun came back and thretened to cook me alive if I didn't come out.
That was too much.
I was prepared to leave and begin a new life in an underground cave where stupid Sun couldn't bother me. Just as I packed up and left my house in the middle of the night, the Moon stopped me. It had a message from the Sun.
It would kill itself if I leave. Moon asked me if I knew what that meant. I didn't.
It would mean BOOOM!
So, because I love you all, I decided to stay. Although Sun apologized and promised to stop drinking, a few days latter, I'm back at the corner singing ''I made out with your mamma, wife and sister, Mister Officer.''
But one of these days, I will leave it; I know I'm strong enough.
Even if it means you all have to burn to death in a gigantic Sun-explosion.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The big Taliban strategy switcheroo
Snake clarifies the new Taliban tactic, and explains what it will mean to Afghan people.
By: Snake
In a BBC telephone interview, a Taliban leader talked about the surprises his organization has in store for the Afghanistan War season 2007/08. In short, it will be a bomb.
In fact, it will be a multitude of bombs, carried or driven by people (those are called ''suicide bombers'') to be used on targets in the capital, Kabul. And the targets include, well, almost everything that can be destroyed and/or killed.
The good news is they won't target things like the sky, the moon, love, bad musical taste and stuff like that.
The bad news-they'll target everything and everyone else.
And that's the new Taliban strategy. Concentrate on Kabul, and primarily use suicide attacks. People in the capital, if they have electricity needed to power their radio (80% to 90% is probably still in blissful darkens) that is, are certainly thinking: ''God, what else? Alien invasion? Volcano? The plague? Oh wait, we already have the plague...''
As the warlord explained during the interview, their last offensive tactic didn't work out as they had hoped. Most likely the reason for that is the fact that their previous tactic revolved around meeting behind barns and outhouses in Helmand province in the evening, camping and relaxing, and then shooting on the first NATO convoy that passes by in the morning. I don't know if you ever saw a Taliban gunmen firing his AK-47; the thing is - you shouldn't hold the gun by the magazine - that way, you won't hit jack shit. Also, it's a bad idea to empty your clip in a single burst, because the barrel will jump all over the place (even 11 year old kids know that, from Counter Strike-short bursts only). For some reason, the Taliban prefer that kind of handling; maybe that's their version of bad-ass gangsta style.
On the other hand, NATO soldiers hold their guns in a totally uninteresting way, but can hit a man 400 yards away. That, in combination with their aircraft, APC, satellite imagery, J-DAM bombs, and similar deadly things, was a good indicator of the shear pointlessness of the ''direct attack'' approach. In spite of that, the Taliban stuck with it for 5 years.
No more, if we can believe their PR; simply, it's not that the last tactic failed, it's just that this one is much better. From now on, de facto suicide attacks on NATO bases and personel will be changed to real suicide attacks on markets, check points, government buildings, music shops, girl schools and other soft targets. The leader also stated that they had a bunch of eager volunteers, so the stream of human detonations should be long and continuous.
You should think that this information would cause some concern with the top NATO generals. Not at all, because, according to them, the Multinational Force is winning. Why, it was winning all the time, and will continue to do so, even when the explosions start to rock the streets on a daily basis.
So, what's new on the Afghanistan front?
NATO is winning, Taliban are winning, and the citizens of Kabul can watch live how their city becomes Baghdad 2.0.
By: Snake
In a BBC telephone interview, a Taliban leader talked about the surprises his organization has in store for the Afghanistan War season 2007/08. In short, it will be a bomb.
In fact, it will be a multitude of bombs, carried or driven by people (those are called ''suicide bombers'') to be used on targets in the capital, Kabul. And the targets include, well, almost everything that can be destroyed and/or killed.
The good news is they won't target things like the sky, the moon, love, bad musical taste and stuff like that.
The bad news-they'll target everything and everyone else.
And that's the new Taliban strategy. Concentrate on Kabul, and primarily use suicide attacks. People in the capital, if they have electricity needed to power their radio (80% to 90% is probably still in blissful darkens) that is, are certainly thinking: ''God, what else? Alien invasion? Volcano? The plague? Oh wait, we already have the plague...''
As the warlord explained during the interview, their last offensive tactic didn't work out as they had hoped. Most likely the reason for that is the fact that their previous tactic revolved around meeting behind barns and outhouses in Helmand province in the evening, camping and relaxing, and then shooting on the first NATO convoy that passes by in the morning. I don't know if you ever saw a Taliban gunmen firing his AK-47; the thing is - you shouldn't hold the gun by the magazine - that way, you won't hit jack shit. Also, it's a bad idea to empty your clip in a single burst, because the barrel will jump all over the place (even 11 year old kids know that, from Counter Strike-short bursts only). For some reason, the Taliban prefer that kind of handling; maybe that's their version of bad-ass gangsta style.
On the other hand, NATO soldiers hold their guns in a totally uninteresting way, but can hit a man 400 yards away. That, in combination with their aircraft, APC, satellite imagery, J-DAM bombs, and similar deadly things, was a good indicator of the shear pointlessness of the ''direct attack'' approach. In spite of that, the Taliban stuck with it for 5 years.
No more, if we can believe their PR; simply, it's not that the last tactic failed, it's just that this one is much better. From now on, de facto suicide attacks on NATO bases and personel will be changed to real suicide attacks on markets, check points, government buildings, music shops, girl schools and other soft targets. The leader also stated that they had a bunch of eager volunteers, so the stream of human detonations should be long and continuous.
You should think that this information would cause some concern with the top NATO generals. Not at all, because, according to them, the Multinational Force is winning. Why, it was winning all the time, and will continue to do so, even when the explosions start to rock the streets on a daily basis.
So, what's new on the Afghanistan front?
NATO is winning, Taliban are winning, and the citizens of Kabul can watch live how their city becomes Baghdad 2.0.
Friday, June 15, 2007
I could be Miss World
Good and unexpected news for every mom in the world.
By Madelyn:
Today is a great day. You could even say, a monumental day.
Today, The Miss Spain beauty contest (that's in Spain) changed the rules, and from now on, even mother will be allowed to enter that competition. Before, mothers couldn't participate, and last year organizers even disqualified Angela Bustillo after she won the crown of Miss Cantabria. Ofcourse, that smooth move created a big buzz, and eventually, the pedophile judges who crave only underage contestants, had to comply. Now, I really don't care about knocked-up Angela and all the crushing emotional pain she went through during this awful ordeal. Anyway, she lives in Spain, for God sake - how bad can it be?
This news is important for a different reason. Moms can enter beauty contests.
Moms! Granted, for now, only in Spain, but it has to spread. And what does that mean?
I could enter in a few years, or even months. And then, the real show begins.
You see, I sort of despised my kids from the moment they ruined my body. You can be a goddess all your life, but when those things start growing in your gut, it's all over. First, say goodbye to your waist. I know, a bunch of you girls are thinking:" Oh, that's no biggie. I'll go on a diet right after the blood/plasma suckers finally pop out.'' Yeah, right!
All I can say is: while you have your baby - no way baby! Sure, we all saw all those celebrities that look great during pregnancy and are back on the screen/catwalk in weeks. But, they don't have to take care of their children, and you do. And all they want to do is suck and scream all night long. The first transforms your breasts in saggy, half-filled balloons, and the second gives your face a not so appealing I-could-kill-for-a-good-night-sleep look, dominated by the ever-present bags under your eyes.
To wrap it up, child bearing messes your body and face pretty much completely. Oh, the joy of giving life.
But, this is our chance, moms young and old. If we can enter a beauty competition, we can win, and then the world of riches and leisure could be ours! How, you ask, how can we compete against tight skin, perky breasts and fresh, innocent faces?
Why, we won't. Our admirers don't want youth. They want just what we have - motherhood.
Ever heard of MILF fans? They get off on older ladies, and the fact that we had little heads pushing trough our vaginas makes them really horny. I know, they're totally sick, but they take their obssession very seriously. Combine that with the fact that almost every future beauty competition will be based on some kind of public voting system, and we have a winner - us! Just imagine, there are millions of horny boys that fantasies about their best friends mom, and one day, while there watching a Miss World competition, among all those girls that look alike, they notice someone like you or me. They'll grab their computer or cell, and vote like crazy. I can even hear them calling their friends.
"Hey, Mark, check out Miss World. There's a totally awesome older babe competing.''
''I know man; I flipped out when I saw her. She's freaking hot, man!''
''I voted for her - 4 times.''
''Shut up! Me - 9 times!''
''Yeah, man. Sweet!''
And the title goes to...
That could be you. Or me. There's plenty of space for all, because, when we show up, looking like real women, who will notice those girls barely out of puberty . We can finally get some pay back for all that misery men like to call - ''bringing a new life to the world.''
I brought them, so now give me that crown.
By Madelyn:
Today is a great day. You could even say, a monumental day.
Today, The Miss Spain beauty contest (that's in Spain) changed the rules, and from now on, even mother will be allowed to enter that competition. Before, mothers couldn't participate, and last year organizers even disqualified Angela Bustillo after she won the crown of Miss Cantabria. Ofcourse, that smooth move created a big buzz, and eventually, the pedophile judges who crave only underage contestants, had to comply. Now, I really don't care about knocked-up Angela and all the crushing emotional pain she went through during this awful ordeal. Anyway, she lives in Spain, for God sake - how bad can it be?
This news is important for a different reason. Moms can enter beauty contests.
Moms! Granted, for now, only in Spain, but it has to spread. And what does that mean?
I could enter in a few years, or even months. And then, the real show begins.
You see, I sort of despised my kids from the moment they ruined my body. You can be a goddess all your life, but when those things start growing in your gut, it's all over. First, say goodbye to your waist. I know, a bunch of you girls are thinking:" Oh, that's no biggie. I'll go on a diet right after the blood/plasma suckers finally pop out.'' Yeah, right!
All I can say is: while you have your baby - no way baby! Sure, we all saw all those celebrities that look great during pregnancy and are back on the screen/catwalk in weeks. But, they don't have to take care of their children, and you do. And all they want to do is suck and scream all night long. The first transforms your breasts in saggy, half-filled balloons, and the second gives your face a not so appealing I-could-kill-for-a-good-night-sleep look, dominated by the ever-present bags under your eyes.
To wrap it up, child bearing messes your body and face pretty much completely. Oh, the joy of giving life.
But, this is our chance, moms young and old. If we can enter a beauty competition, we can win, and then the world of riches and leisure could be ours! How, you ask, how can we compete against tight skin, perky breasts and fresh, innocent faces?
Why, we won't. Our admirers don't want youth. They want just what we have - motherhood.
Ever heard of MILF fans? They get off on older ladies, and the fact that we had little heads pushing trough our vaginas makes them really horny. I know, they're totally sick, but they take their obssession very seriously. Combine that with the fact that almost every future beauty competition will be based on some kind of public voting system, and we have a winner - us! Just imagine, there are millions of horny boys that fantasies about their best friends mom, and one day, while there watching a Miss World competition, among all those girls that look alike, they notice someone like you or me. They'll grab their computer or cell, and vote like crazy. I can even hear them calling their friends.
"Hey, Mark, check out Miss World. There's a totally awesome older babe competing.''
''I know man; I flipped out when I saw her. She's freaking hot, man!''
''I voted for her - 4 times.''
''Shut up! Me - 9 times!''
''Yeah, man. Sweet!''
And the title goes to...
That could be you. Or me. There's plenty of space for all, because, when we show up, looking like real women, who will notice those girls barely out of puberty . We can finally get some pay back for all that misery men like to call - ''bringing a new life to the world.''
I brought them, so now give me that crown.
Monday, June 4, 2007
A new cold war on the horizon?
Grandpa Milo analyses the possibility of a second conflict between East and West.
by Grandpa Milo:
Now, who would have guessed that ex-KGB dwarf Putin has a backbone after all? When he took over from the drunken laughing dancing- with-Bill-Clinton piggy, I thought to myself: ''here's another castrated US puppet.'' And for the first few years, he sure acted as a lame, weak and tender President. All that was left from once mighty SSSR was to busy queuing for bread, while its state influence was fast becoming equal to Uganda's, Monaco's and East Timor's. And to think, just two decades ago, parents scared their children with the images of crazy, bloodthirsty Red Army privates looking to kill and maim on the eve of nuclear Armageddon. But then, all of the sudden, the scariest image of Russians was a bare ass immigrant prepared to work for a less than a minimum wage. For a long time, I thought that was the way things will be for good.
I cried myself to sleep every night.
But then from out of nowhere - a glimmer of hope.
Good old US of A armaments plans saved the day. Because a new defense plan, or better to say, an old plan, first hatched in a demented head of a former cowboy actor, is going to kick star my beloved nuclear standoff. You see, during the 80's, Ronald Reagan fell asleep one afternoon in front of the TV. And when he woke up, he conceived a brilliant plan to save the Western democracies from soviet missiles. He planed to shoot them down - with lasers! And he wanted to name it - Star Wars.
Can you guess what was he watching before he fell asleep?
Of course, he explained he's brilliant plan to the defence establishment, and they, instead of calling the family doctor for some stronger anti-hallucinogenic, approved it!
Naturally, 20 years later, everybody realized that Star Wars project was just a retarded pipe dream, but now there's another US President that has a tendency towards crazy war schemes. He's big one is the placement of a Ballistic Shied, or a series of missile interceptor silos all over the world in case North Korean super strong industry builds a really big nuclear catapult.
But, the greater thing is that US plans to place a few of those silos in Czech Republic and Poland. Those countries are in Russia's backyard, people. Not to mention the fact that they were a part of SSSR.
That pissed the Russians of really bad. First, they tested a new intercontinental ballistic missile, which, unlike its Korean and Iranian counterparts, can actually hit something. After that, the military declared that if the development of the Ballistic Shield project continues, they would have to aim their nuclear arsenal on Europe once again.
And all the while, Putin continues to spread some badass soviet style aggressive rhetoric.
Even the world’s smartest man can't tell how is this going to end, but even the stupidest can see it won't be good.
Now I can go to sleep every night, and dream of new, fun nuclear crisis to come.
by Grandpa Milo:
Now, who would have guessed that ex-KGB dwarf Putin has a backbone after all? When he took over from the drunken laughing dancing- with-Bill-Clinton piggy, I thought to myself: ''here's another castrated US puppet.'' And for the first few years, he sure acted as a lame, weak and tender President. All that was left from once mighty SSSR was to busy queuing for bread, while its state influence was fast becoming equal to Uganda's, Monaco's and East Timor's. And to think, just two decades ago, parents scared their children with the images of crazy, bloodthirsty Red Army privates looking to kill and maim on the eve of nuclear Armageddon. But then, all of the sudden, the scariest image of Russians was a bare ass immigrant prepared to work for a less than a minimum wage. For a long time, I thought that was the way things will be for good.
I cried myself to sleep every night.
But then from out of nowhere - a glimmer of hope.
Good old US of A armaments plans saved the day. Because a new defense plan, or better to say, an old plan, first hatched in a demented head of a former cowboy actor, is going to kick star my beloved nuclear standoff. You see, during the 80's, Ronald Reagan fell asleep one afternoon in front of the TV. And when he woke up, he conceived a brilliant plan to save the Western democracies from soviet missiles. He planed to shoot them down - with lasers! And he wanted to name it - Star Wars.
Can you guess what was he watching before he fell asleep?
Of course, he explained he's brilliant plan to the defence establishment, and they, instead of calling the family doctor for some stronger anti-hallucinogenic, approved it!
Naturally, 20 years later, everybody realized that Star Wars project was just a retarded pipe dream, but now there's another US President that has a tendency towards crazy war schemes. He's big one is the placement of a Ballistic Shied, or a series of missile interceptor silos all over the world in case North Korean super strong industry builds a really big nuclear catapult.
But, the greater thing is that US plans to place a few of those silos in Czech Republic and Poland. Those countries are in Russia's backyard, people. Not to mention the fact that they were a part of SSSR.
That pissed the Russians of really bad. First, they tested a new intercontinental ballistic missile, which, unlike its Korean and Iranian counterparts, can actually hit something. After that, the military declared that if the development of the Ballistic Shield project continues, they would have to aim their nuclear arsenal on Europe once again.
And all the while, Putin continues to spread some badass soviet style aggressive rhetoric.
Even the world’s smartest man can't tell how is this going to end, but even the stupidest can see it won't be good.
Now I can go to sleep every night, and dream of new, fun nuclear crisis to come.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
You should have played my game
Lena makes no apologies in this from-beyond-the-grave interview.
by Clairvoyant Lena:
Hi, everybody, how's it hanging? I know, you probably think you're life sucks and you have a bunch of problems, but remember; you only have them because you're still alive. So let's hear from some of those who have already crossed the finish line.
First, I must mui concentrado.
I'm in the spiritual plain.
Searching for interesting souls.
Uh, I have somebody.
Whose there?
George Cayley
How's it hanging, Gorgy boy. Who are you again?
You don't know?
Can you believe it, no, I don't! Please, enlighten me. Or even better, we could play a game. I could guess what you did when you were alive. What do you say? I can name some creative field or profession, and you say ''hot'' if I'm close, or ''cold'', if I'm mistaken. For every ''hot'' answer, I get 1 point, but for every ''cold'', I get minus 0.5 points. But, I can only ask you 14 questions, 'cause after those comes the 2 round. But before that, we have to sum up all my points, and add all my special points...
For God's sake! I invented the seat belt!
Oh, fuck you, George! I really wanted to play that game. And now you've screwed it all up. Anyway, my first guess would have been ''car safety designer''.
I wasn't a car designer. I died in 1857. In my time, all ''cars'' had assholes and 4 legs.
Oh, yeah? And how do you know what a car is, then?
I keep myself informed, thank you very much.
Let me get this straight- you died 50 some years before the first car, but that didn't stop you from inventing the seat belt?
Everybody could have seen that the humanity was going faster and faster. I knew that the future had even crazier things in store. It was logical to create something that would keep them in the shaker while the cocktail was being made, so to speak.
Wow, thanks for that Mister Cayley. You brought the world's worst thing about individual mass transit. No one wants to put on those irritating things, but everybody has to, because it's illegal not to wear them while driving. In a single stroke, you took both comfort and basic human rights to make choices concerning their personal safety.
Oh yeah, screw you too! You think I'm not cool because everybody has to wear the belt. Do you think I want you to wear them? Did I plan for their use to become obligatory? I don't give a crap about you! Why would I, if you are so dumb that you reject the very thing that can save your life? And please, don't say they kill more than they save.
I don't have to. Everybody knows that, moron!
Why you... After this, I regret I ever tried to help you ungrateful future people. You know what? Just don't put them on. I insist. Rip them out of your cars. Cut them up, burn them, I really don't care. And when you splatter your face all over the dashboard, and you can feel the bones shatter into a thousand little pieces, think of me. Goodbye, ignorant future jackasses!
Oh, yeah, but you know what? Your stupid belt sill sucks and you can go and ...
Crap, he's gone.
Hahaha, now that was precious.
I admit, that didn't last as long as I hoped, but it was still fun.
Now, for the record, of course I know who invented the seat belt. And I always put it on, like any sane person.
Really, that's one useful invention.
But George should have played my ''guess the dead'' game.
by Clairvoyant Lena:
Hi, everybody, how's it hanging? I know, you probably think you're life sucks and you have a bunch of problems, but remember; you only have them because you're still alive. So let's hear from some of those who have already crossed the finish line.
First, I must mui concentrado.
I'm in the spiritual plain.
Searching for interesting souls.
Uh, I have somebody.
Whose there?
George Cayley
How's it hanging, Gorgy boy. Who are you again?
You don't know?
Can you believe it, no, I don't! Please, enlighten me. Or even better, we could play a game. I could guess what you did when you were alive. What do you say? I can name some creative field or profession, and you say ''hot'' if I'm close, or ''cold'', if I'm mistaken. For every ''hot'' answer, I get 1 point, but for every ''cold'', I get minus 0.5 points. But, I can only ask you 14 questions, 'cause after those comes the 2 round. But before that, we have to sum up all my points, and add all my special points...
For God's sake! I invented the seat belt!
Oh, fuck you, George! I really wanted to play that game. And now you've screwed it all up. Anyway, my first guess would have been ''car safety designer''.
I wasn't a car designer. I died in 1857. In my time, all ''cars'' had assholes and 4 legs.
Oh, yeah? And how do you know what a car is, then?
I keep myself informed, thank you very much.
Let me get this straight- you died 50 some years before the first car, but that didn't stop you from inventing the seat belt?
Everybody could have seen that the humanity was going faster and faster. I knew that the future had even crazier things in store. It was logical to create something that would keep them in the shaker while the cocktail was being made, so to speak.
Wow, thanks for that Mister Cayley. You brought the world's worst thing about individual mass transit. No one wants to put on those irritating things, but everybody has to, because it's illegal not to wear them while driving. In a single stroke, you took both comfort and basic human rights to make choices concerning their personal safety.
Oh yeah, screw you too! You think I'm not cool because everybody has to wear the belt. Do you think I want you to wear them? Did I plan for their use to become obligatory? I don't give a crap about you! Why would I, if you are so dumb that you reject the very thing that can save your life? And please, don't say they kill more than they save.
I don't have to. Everybody knows that, moron!
Why you... After this, I regret I ever tried to help you ungrateful future people. You know what? Just don't put them on. I insist. Rip them out of your cars. Cut them up, burn them, I really don't care. And when you splatter your face all over the dashboard, and you can feel the bones shatter into a thousand little pieces, think of me. Goodbye, ignorant future jackasses!
Oh, yeah, but you know what? Your stupid belt sill sucks and you can go and ...
Crap, he's gone.
Hahaha, now that was precious.
I admit, that didn't last as long as I hoped, but it was still fun.
Now, for the record, of course I know who invented the seat belt. And I always put it on, like any sane person.
Really, that's one useful invention.
But George should have played my ''guess the dead'' game.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
20 days and counting
Boy oh boy, it's almost 3 weeks since we started publishing.
No replies so far, and the page view statistics aren't that encouraging, but, as Inuit tribesmen say, every journey starts whit the first soft crack of the whip. We are still hopeful our blog is slowly building its small audience. If not, we can always act in the great tradition of unpopular writers and commit a spectacular mass suicide. Nothing like some bloodshed and self-induced carnage to rise a few eyebrows, right?
Just kidding, folks! And in any case, I bet that the majority of Mag13 authors are leaning more towards homicide than auto-destruction.
Magazine13, a brand new worldview - currently in its third week and going strong.
Everybody at Magazine13 is really excited about that, and new, thrilling articles are coming your way very soon.
No replies so far, and the page view statistics aren't that encouraging, but, as Inuit tribesmen say, every journey starts whit the first soft crack of the whip. We are still hopeful our blog is slowly building its small audience. If not, we can always act in the great tradition of unpopular writers and commit a spectacular mass suicide. Nothing like some bloodshed and self-induced carnage to rise a few eyebrows, right?
Just kidding, folks! And in any case, I bet that the majority of Mag13 authors are leaning more towards homicide than auto-destruction.
Magazine13, a brand new worldview - currently in its third week and going strong.
Everybody at Magazine13 is really excited about that, and new, thrilling articles are coming your way very soon.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Happy freaking birthday
A bunch of easy tips & tricks for your child's all-important b-day party.
By Madelyn:
Few years ago, when your breasts weren't saggy and you smiled from time to time, you were in the sack with you're stupider, hairier half. And then his condom broke.
Today, you have to plan a birthday party for the results of that small protection malfunction.
And he or she insists you invite at least 30 equally loud, frantic friends. At that point, suicide looks very appealing.
But, don't do it! There is an easy way out.
1. Small company
First of all, you have to appear interested. Sit down with them, and make up a list of invitees.
Don't confront them; just nod your head as you write down the names of all kindergarten friends, Power Rangers, Santa Clause, Batman, President, Mickey Mouse, and the rest of the wish list guests. But, when you actually make the phone calls, do it from your own list, which consists 5 friends whose moms you can actually tolerate for a couple of hours. Sure, when the day comes, your child will be confused and disappointed, but you will rationally explain that the rest of his/her friends and superheroes have small pox and have to stay home.
2. Don't spend
Let's face it; kids don't know anything. So, instead of slaving in the kitchen for hours or buying expensive food, just get some cheap vegetables, slice them all up, and put them in a colorful bowl. That way, they can eat healthy organic stuff, instead of all that junk food, candy and cake. At least, that's the story for the parents.
Do the same with the drinks. Go out and by the most intensely colored syrup, preferably radioactive-green or dying-sun-red, and mix it up whit tap water. Add salt, pepper, sugar, curry, and Tabasco sauce, and put it in the freezer for 12 hours. Before serving it, tell them that's a special super-secret recipe , and only the bravest children can drink it. Kids will love it, although it will hurt a little going out.
3. Games
Children love to play games, but you can give them a few of your own. For example, they can play ''Clean the backyard'', ''Let's collect the trash'', ''Your parents will die if you make a single sound in the next 30 minutes'', or ''Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and DO NOT FALL ASLEEP''. While they enjoy themselves, you can also enjoy yourself and check up all the hot, buff young dads eager for some wild no-strings-attached sex in the upstairs bathroom.
4.Game over
If you decide that the party will go on forever, and the little bloodsuckers still have a lot of energy, make them some special pudding. Grind down a dozen sedative pills (Come on, you and I know you have a small pharmacy in your night stand) and mix it in. You can bet they'll gobble it down, having in mind they had to eat only some crappy vegetables. 10 to 20 minutes later, everyone will be on the express train to sleepy town. Their parents will have no choice but to say goodnight, and you, a last chance to put your cell phone number in a few strong, muscular hands.
All there is to do is to put your kid to bed, and plan what to do for the rest of the night.
You can go clubbing, and bring back a whole army unit if you like, because your special birthday girl/boy will be hard asleep.
After all, mommy has a right to party too...
By Madelyn:
Few years ago, when your breasts weren't saggy and you smiled from time to time, you were in the sack with you're stupider, hairier half. And then his condom broke.
Today, you have to plan a birthday party for the results of that small protection malfunction.
And he or she insists you invite at least 30 equally loud, frantic friends. At that point, suicide looks very appealing.
But, don't do it! There is an easy way out.
1. Small company
First of all, you have to appear interested. Sit down with them, and make up a list of invitees.
Don't confront them; just nod your head as you write down the names of all kindergarten friends, Power Rangers, Santa Clause, Batman, President, Mickey Mouse, and the rest of the wish list guests. But, when you actually make the phone calls, do it from your own list, which consists 5 friends whose moms you can actually tolerate for a couple of hours. Sure, when the day comes, your child will be confused and disappointed, but you will rationally explain that the rest of his/her friends and superheroes have small pox and have to stay home.
2. Don't spend
Let's face it; kids don't know anything. So, instead of slaving in the kitchen for hours or buying expensive food, just get some cheap vegetables, slice them all up, and put them in a colorful bowl. That way, they can eat healthy organic stuff, instead of all that junk food, candy and cake. At least, that's the story for the parents.
Do the same with the drinks. Go out and by the most intensely colored syrup, preferably radioactive-green or dying-sun-red, and mix it up whit tap water. Add salt, pepper, sugar, curry, and Tabasco sauce, and put it in the freezer for 12 hours. Before serving it, tell them that's a special super-secret recipe , and only the bravest children can drink it. Kids will love it, although it will hurt a little going out.
3. Games
Children love to play games, but you can give them a few of your own. For example, they can play ''Clean the backyard'', ''Let's collect the trash'', ''Your parents will die if you make a single sound in the next 30 minutes'', or ''Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and DO NOT FALL ASLEEP''. While they enjoy themselves, you can also enjoy yourself and check up all the hot, buff young dads eager for some wild no-strings-attached sex in the upstairs bathroom.
4.Game over
If you decide that the party will go on forever, and the little bloodsuckers still have a lot of energy, make them some special pudding. Grind down a dozen sedative pills (Come on, you and I know you have a small pharmacy in your night stand) and mix it in. You can bet they'll gobble it down, having in mind they had to eat only some crappy vegetables. 10 to 20 minutes later, everyone will be on the express train to sleepy town. Their parents will have no choice but to say goodnight, and you, a last chance to put your cell phone number in a few strong, muscular hands.
All there is to do is to put your kid to bed, and plan what to do for the rest of the night.
You can go clubbing, and bring back a whole army unit if you like, because your special birthday girl/boy will be hard asleep.
After all, mommy has a right to party too...
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Going Crazy Galapagos stile
Learn who is dead and talking on this occasion:
by Clairvoyant Lena:
It's that time again.
Contacting - celebrities - from - beyond the grave - time, that is.
So, without further a do, let's see who is going to be our special soul from the afterlife.
First, I need a little time to focus. You've watched "Charmed", so you know the drill.
Mmmmm.... I can feel something... no, that's just stupid WiFi....
Must... go... deeper...
I got it! Oh spirit, introduce yourself!
Hello! Anybody?
Who's there?
Hi!
And you are...
Charles Darwin.
Holy shit. You invented gravity!
No, that was Newton. I conceived the theory of evolution through natural selection.
Shut up! That was you? Well, I guess evolution is big too. Not as big as gravity, though... So, you started all that ''God doesn't exist'' thing?
Honestly, I had no idea my book would start all that commotion. After all, I just wanted a trip to a beautiful island. My first title for the book was ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" but the publisher was against it. I still think it sounded better than "The Origin of Species".
Did you know that a lot of people still don't believe in your theory? And I don't mean 6pack Joe's. Some of the really educated folks think that there has to be an ''intelligent design'' behind all of creation. Because, if you look at it, how does a termite know how to build a 2-meter structure complete whit storage rooms, nurseries and air vents?
Oh yes, of course God taught every creature what they had to do to survive before they began their lives. I totally agree whit their theories.
Really?
No, I was sarcastic. I think they are just a bunch of lonely people in need of a belief that could explain this cold, strange world. Even if it stands on arguments that could have come from a 6 year-old-child.
I guess then, you didn't actually want to name your book ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" either?
Nope, that was sarcasm too. You could say I'm a sarcastic kind of guy. But that's not that strange considering I empirically killed of a lot of monotheistic core beliefs.
Yeah, you kind of fucked it up for a lot of believers by taking all the magic stuff and leaving coincidental mutation in its place.
Nope, I don't think so. They can always call me stupid, and say that earth is 4000 years old, and Adam and Eve played hide and seek whit a T-Rex.
Man, Charley, you're one bitter dead fellow. Were the journeys, seasickness, sleeping in tents, and opposition on every step of the way really worth it?
I don't know anymore. Al least, I gave some people another figure to hate. And that's always a comforting fact.
You just don't give up. Get your sarcastic dead ass out of my head, we're done.
... Zoning out from the after life...
Well, that's it from Charles Darwin.
Sarcastic or not, I think that ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" is a kick ass title...
by Clairvoyant Lena:
It's that time again.
Contacting - celebrities - from - beyond the grave - time, that is.
So, without further a do, let's see who is going to be our special soul from the afterlife.
First, I need a little time to focus. You've watched "Charmed", so you know the drill.
Mmmmm.... I can feel something... no, that's just stupid WiFi....
Must... go... deeper...
I got it! Oh spirit, introduce yourself!
Hello! Anybody?
Who's there?
Hi!
And you are...
Charles Darwin.
Holy shit. You invented gravity!
No, that was Newton. I conceived the theory of evolution through natural selection.
Shut up! That was you? Well, I guess evolution is big too. Not as big as gravity, though... So, you started all that ''God doesn't exist'' thing?
Honestly, I had no idea my book would start all that commotion. After all, I just wanted a trip to a beautiful island. My first title for the book was ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" but the publisher was against it. I still think it sounded better than "The Origin of Species".
Did you know that a lot of people still don't believe in your theory? And I don't mean 6pack Joe's. Some of the really educated folks think that there has to be an ''intelligent design'' behind all of creation. Because, if you look at it, how does a termite know how to build a 2-meter structure complete whit storage rooms, nurseries and air vents?
Oh yes, of course God taught every creature what they had to do to survive before they began their lives. I totally agree whit their theories.
Really?
No, I was sarcastic. I think they are just a bunch of lonely people in need of a belief that could explain this cold, strange world. Even if it stands on arguments that could have come from a 6 year-old-child.
I guess then, you didn't actually want to name your book ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" either?
Nope, that was sarcasm too. You could say I'm a sarcastic kind of guy. But that's not that strange considering I empirically killed of a lot of monotheistic core beliefs.
Yeah, you kind of fucked it up for a lot of believers by taking all the magic stuff and leaving coincidental mutation in its place.
Nope, I don't think so. They can always call me stupid, and say that earth is 4000 years old, and Adam and Eve played hide and seek whit a T-Rex.
Man, Charley, you're one bitter dead fellow. Were the journeys, seasickness, sleeping in tents, and opposition on every step of the way really worth it?
I don't know anymore. Al least, I gave some people another figure to hate. And that's always a comforting fact.
You just don't give up. Get your sarcastic dead ass out of my head, we're done.
... Zoning out from the after life...
Well, that's it from Charles Darwin.
Sarcastic or not, I think that ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" is a kick ass title...
Friday, May 11, 2007
A game of flowers
Read what happens when you realize your plants have diabolical plans. Against YOU!
By Paul / Michael, currently Michael:
Flowers. I always liked flowers. You could even say I loved them.
But, did they share my love?
I wonder because, well, some were plotting against me.
For many years, I have lived with a wide range of home plants. We never argued, and we lived happily together.
But, that was what I had thought.
I first started doubting their intentions when I heard faint voice in the middle of the night.
Are they standing next to each other, in my garden or in pots on my porch?
''Yes, yes, the moment is near.''
They were whispering to each other. Although I couldn't actually hear them, they communicated in high pitch, raspy voices whit a German accent.
Something very similar to the one that character Golum has, in that SF movie, ''Harry Potter and The Stones''.
''Brothers and sisters - '' they went on, little plotting bastards, '' - Be patient, and just stand there quietly, like we always do. The fool -''that was me, by the way'' - doesn't suspect anything. But soon, he'll smell one of us, completely oblivious, enjoying our sweet ordure, and then - BANG! Victory will be ours, my green comrades!''
Bang.
Yes. That's exactly what the flowers were thinking.
It's been hard for me to admit it, but all the facts added up. The jigsaw pointed to a crushing, but undeniable truth. My plants, every one of those little, colorful wonders I transformed from lifeless, hard seeds to beautiful monuments of nature; all of them wanted me dead.
They were planning my demise. I didn't know then, and I still don't understand how it had come to this.
I loved them. And they decided to repay me with a poisonous flower knife in the back.
Metaphorically, that is. Or maybe not...
Anyway, they forgot one crucial thing. Betrayal is a two way street. And it takes two to walk the length of it. In the opposite direction. If you know what I mean.
I decided to fight back.
First, I had to find a place where they couldn't hear my thoughts. Because they read minds, oh yes!
Of course, the only logical choice was the bathroom. My ideas were safe there, because of, you know, the ceramic tiles. Space shuttles use the same thing for blocking the radioactive superheated space wave thingies. It had to work against the mind reading.
There I hatched my plan.
My enemies were depended on me. So, I decided to continue my routine, but with a small difference. Instead of watering them with normal tap water, I added a special ingredient. My urine.
It was a risky business. I had to maintain perfect concentration, or else they would read my mind. I thought of endlles universes and the multitude of stars in them. I imagined myself floating in pure blackness, surrounded by nothingness. I played James Blunt songs in my head over and over again. In the same time, I poured watered urine on the bastards.
I can tell you, it wasn't easy. Often, I cried my eyes out in the bathroom, fearing my plan was discovered. Some nights I slept in there, concerned that I could unintentionally reveal everything while dreaming.
Weeks passed with no results. I had to risk it, so I increased the amount of urine. Soon, I was in the bathroom all day long, drinking water so I could produce more flower poison.
But then, when I had almost lost all hope, one plant in my living room started withering.
That gave me a new hope.
I think I drank and pissed for the next few days more than I did in the last 6 months. But it gave results big time.
Other evil sons of bitches followed.
In a matter of days, all were dead. Brittle, yellow corpses surrounded me.
Success! I had prevailed.
But, my happiness was short lived. By total chance, my first door neighbour started planting a rose garden.
Now that's just a coincidence, you probably think that.
That's what they want you to think.
I know the truth. Plants don't forget or forgive.
I continue my game of flowers. And in this game, the looser DIES!
By Paul / Michael, currently Michael:
Flowers. I always liked flowers. You could even say I loved them.
But, did they share my love?
I wonder because, well, some were plotting against me.
For many years, I have lived with a wide range of home plants. We never argued, and we lived happily together.
But, that was what I had thought.
I first started doubting their intentions when I heard faint voice in the middle of the night.
Are they standing next to each other, in my garden or in pots on my porch?
''Yes, yes, the moment is near.''
They were whispering to each other. Although I couldn't actually hear them, they communicated in high pitch, raspy voices whit a German accent.
Something very similar to the one that character Golum has, in that SF movie, ''Harry Potter and The Stones''.
''Brothers and sisters - '' they went on, little plotting bastards, '' - Be patient, and just stand there quietly, like we always do. The fool -''that was me, by the way'' - doesn't suspect anything. But soon, he'll smell one of us, completely oblivious, enjoying our sweet ordure, and then - BANG! Victory will be ours, my green comrades!''
Bang.
Yes. That's exactly what the flowers were thinking.
It's been hard for me to admit it, but all the facts added up. The jigsaw pointed to a crushing, but undeniable truth. My plants, every one of those little, colorful wonders I transformed from lifeless, hard seeds to beautiful monuments of nature; all of them wanted me dead.
They were planning my demise. I didn't know then, and I still don't understand how it had come to this.
I loved them. And they decided to repay me with a poisonous flower knife in the back.
Metaphorically, that is. Or maybe not...
Anyway, they forgot one crucial thing. Betrayal is a two way street. And it takes two to walk the length of it. In the opposite direction. If you know what I mean.
I decided to fight back.
First, I had to find a place where they couldn't hear my thoughts. Because they read minds, oh yes!
Of course, the only logical choice was the bathroom. My ideas were safe there, because of, you know, the ceramic tiles. Space shuttles use the same thing for blocking the radioactive superheated space wave thingies. It had to work against the mind reading.
There I hatched my plan.
My enemies were depended on me. So, I decided to continue my routine, but with a small difference. Instead of watering them with normal tap water, I added a special ingredient. My urine.
It was a risky business. I had to maintain perfect concentration, or else they would read my mind. I thought of endlles universes and the multitude of stars in them. I imagined myself floating in pure blackness, surrounded by nothingness. I played James Blunt songs in my head over and over again. In the same time, I poured watered urine on the bastards.
I can tell you, it wasn't easy. Often, I cried my eyes out in the bathroom, fearing my plan was discovered. Some nights I slept in there, concerned that I could unintentionally reveal everything while dreaming.
Weeks passed with no results. I had to risk it, so I increased the amount of urine. Soon, I was in the bathroom all day long, drinking water so I could produce more flower poison.
But then, when I had almost lost all hope, one plant in my living room started withering.
That gave me a new hope.
I think I drank and pissed for the next few days more than I did in the last 6 months. But it gave results big time.
Other evil sons of bitches followed.
In a matter of days, all were dead. Brittle, yellow corpses surrounded me.
Success! I had prevailed.
But, my happiness was short lived. By total chance, my first door neighbour started planting a rose garden.
Now that's just a coincidence, you probably think that.
That's what they want you to think.
I know the truth. Plants don't forget or forgive.
I continue my game of flowers. And in this game, the looser DIES!
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
My last fishing trip
A fishing tale, but whit a twist!
by Grandpa Milo:
Once, a long time ago, I went fishing with my dad. Oh, it was at least 60 years ago, and I was just a wee lad. He told me we were going to a small pond behind our house. That place smelled to high heaven, but my father promised me that it had the biggest fish I could imagine. So, we picked up our fishing rods, bait, put on some straw hats and went on our merry way. We sang and joked on the way there, and my dad kept telling me about the huge monster fish he caught on that same pond when he was even younger then me. It was all: ''Her eyes where two huge diamond dinner plates!'' ''She fought me until I could hardly take a breath '', ''I had to club her head half a dozen times before she died''. My childish mind was running wild, and I saw myself battling it out with a freakish creature from the deep. After the longest 10 minutes of my life, we had finally arrived at the pond. I was so excited I didn't even notice the horrible, horrible stink of the pond water and whatever was in it; all I wanted to do is fish. We unpacked, and let them fly. My dad smiled at me, and I smiled back. My pond adventure finally began.
But, when I first tried to pull my hook out, I found out it was stuck. I called my dad, all excited, because, a real diamond-eye wale was biting. He grabbed my rod and we pulled together, but the hook wouldn't budge. After a few minutes, my dad told my I didn't actually caught anything, but rather, my line got stuck in the underwater weed. Half an hour later, he told me I should take off my boots and go in to try to untangle it. I argued that I could use some other rod, but he said that it's wrong to throw good, useful things away. So I got in. I felt the mud and many other things underneath my feet, and creepy, slimy critters crawling up my legs. It took me about 15 minutes to find the line, and then I tried to jerk it out, but it was still stuck. I asked dad what I should do next, and he told me to dive under and try to release the hook. The water was cold and the smell was awful, but I did it. I emerged with a half-rotten cow head in my hands. The sight of it made me scream like crazy, but somehow I took the hook out. I wanted to throw the head back, but my dad told me to keep it as a souvenir from our trip. I got out; decaying cow skull beneath my arm, when he told the line was still stuck. Because I was already wet, he explained how it was only logical I should go back in.
Anyway, 2 hours and 10 cuts on my feet later, I succeeded to entangle the line. I was cold, smelly and miserable when I got out, but I still wanted to get that enormous magical fish. However dad told me we should go home.
''Why - we didn't even fish?'' I asked.
''Yes. But we accomplished something even more meaningful. We solved something! A mystery!''
''What mystery?''
''The mystery of the neighbour's missing cow!''
''But why did you made me go back the second time?''
My dad smiled at me, I picked up my cow scull, and we started going home.
The next 2 months I spent in my bead, sick like a dog. And all that time I asked myself why did my dad made me go in there.
What was the reason for all that?
Was it spiritual?
Philosophical?
What was I suppose to learn from that, in the least case, unpleasant experience?
What life lessons were to be had from that day?
60 years later, I had finally figured it out.
Actually, it's quite simple - my dad was a jerk.
by Grandpa Milo:
Once, a long time ago, I went fishing with my dad. Oh, it was at least 60 years ago, and I was just a wee lad. He told me we were going to a small pond behind our house. That place smelled to high heaven, but my father promised me that it had the biggest fish I could imagine. So, we picked up our fishing rods, bait, put on some straw hats and went on our merry way. We sang and joked on the way there, and my dad kept telling me about the huge monster fish he caught on that same pond when he was even younger then me. It was all: ''Her eyes where two huge diamond dinner plates!'' ''She fought me until I could hardly take a breath '', ''I had to club her head half a dozen times before she died''. My childish mind was running wild, and I saw myself battling it out with a freakish creature from the deep. After the longest 10 minutes of my life, we had finally arrived at the pond. I was so excited I didn't even notice the horrible, horrible stink of the pond water and whatever was in it; all I wanted to do is fish. We unpacked, and let them fly. My dad smiled at me, and I smiled back. My pond adventure finally began.
But, when I first tried to pull my hook out, I found out it was stuck. I called my dad, all excited, because, a real diamond-eye wale was biting. He grabbed my rod and we pulled together, but the hook wouldn't budge. After a few minutes, my dad told my I didn't actually caught anything, but rather, my line got stuck in the underwater weed. Half an hour later, he told me I should take off my boots and go in to try to untangle it. I argued that I could use some other rod, but he said that it's wrong to throw good, useful things away. So I got in. I felt the mud and many other things underneath my feet, and creepy, slimy critters crawling up my legs. It took me about 15 minutes to find the line, and then I tried to jerk it out, but it was still stuck. I asked dad what I should do next, and he told me to dive under and try to release the hook. The water was cold and the smell was awful, but I did it. I emerged with a half-rotten cow head in my hands. The sight of it made me scream like crazy, but somehow I took the hook out. I wanted to throw the head back, but my dad told me to keep it as a souvenir from our trip. I got out; decaying cow skull beneath my arm, when he told the line was still stuck. Because I was already wet, he explained how it was only logical I should go back in.
Anyway, 2 hours and 10 cuts on my feet later, I succeeded to entangle the line. I was cold, smelly and miserable when I got out, but I still wanted to get that enormous magical fish. However dad told me we should go home.
''Why - we didn't even fish?'' I asked.
''Yes. But we accomplished something even more meaningful. We solved something! A mystery!''
''What mystery?''
''The mystery of the neighbour's missing cow!''
''But why did you made me go back the second time?''
My dad smiled at me, I picked up my cow scull, and we started going home.
The next 2 months I spent in my bead, sick like a dog. And all that time I asked myself why did my dad made me go in there.
What was the reason for all that?
Was it spiritual?
Philosophical?
What was I suppose to learn from that, in the least case, unpleasant experience?
What life lessons were to be had from that day?
60 years later, I had finally figured it out.
Actually, it's quite simple - my dad was a jerk.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Full Metal Jacket review
First post on Mag13. Hurray!
Read Snake's brutal review of the movie ''FULL METAL JACKET'':
OK, I admit it, I haven't been to Vietnam for a long time. I also can't tell you what exactly I did there, but I had an opportunity to discover this interesting country, so I feel competent to express my opinion about this 'so called'' work of art. In any case, I know about 'Nam sure as shit more than you, so shut your whiny civilian mouth, and read on, you bastard.
Full metal jacket sucks ass!
What a fucking disappointment.
''One of the best war movies of all time'' - some asshole, somewhere, sometime.
If FMJ is a war movie, then I never had to endure the removal of 28 shrapnel peaces form my right knee. The movie has nothing to do with war. But it lures the audience, doing the ''just few more minutes of drama-shit, and then the real mayhem starts'' maneuver.
For the first half, the main characters chill out like a bunch of lazy Mexicans on their Basic. Uuu, Basic Training, big deal! Jump, run, wash yourself, jump, run, shoot, sleep, eat, jerk of, jump, run, and so on. That's it. It's like boy scouts, but with grown men and real kick-ass bullets. But in FMJ, it depicted like hell on earth. Sarge doesn't like the fat kid, bu-hu-hu. Give me a bucket to contain my overflowing tears! Jesus, that's what he does. What was he supposed to do-relax, and then fat boy gets a tracer incendiary round in the crotch 5 weeks later? Sarge only does his job, and the movie depicts him as a crazy sadist.
Did he stick a hot poker smears with chilies in Pile's anus? No.
Did he pour acid on he's cheeks, and later rub some salt in the chemical burns? NO!
Did he have sexual intercourse with the maimed Pile's mom, dad, 8-year-old brother, uncle, cousin from Alabama, neighbours, firs high school sweetheart, teachers, janitor, swimming instructor, and his dog Rex? He didn't even do that.
Maybe he messed him up a little, but that only made Pile, like a real, hard solder, hop on a express train to Crazytown. Well, if that's reality, I'm a field medic. And I would rather be a rotting corpse in a necro-night club then a fieldy, who are bigger towels than those of a 400-pound beach enthusiast. But, not only is this a fairy tale, it's a boring fairy tale. I fell asleep until he finally didn't buy the farm. And before that, he shoots the Sarge. Well, that was a surprising twist, if you're a blind retard from Bulgaria.
At this point, I'm going crazy. Is this a war movie or what?! Where are gooks on fire, screaming children, napalm, torn, bleeding limbs, black Huis spreading death from far above? Finally, when chubby does his murder/suicide thing, I think to myself: ''Now the shit goes down!'' The remaining characters go overseas, and I'm craving a good bloodletting.
But, surprise, things there are equally peaceful. So we have some more drama: he's a journalist, they don't get him, and so he has to go to the front. Once there, he introduces himself to the rest of the gang, and it's like watching speed dating in a war zone. They do some chitchat , meet some hookers, then do a little more talking - JESUS CHRIST! Was this movie designed to torture the simple, explosion-loving viewer?
Just then, when I was preparing to shoot the TV, chaos of war begins. At this point, the movie could pull out and leave a decent impression - there's a sniper.
Where, what? What do we do? BANG! MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!
Next 15 minutes - great. But then they find the sniper, and it's the drama part all over again. She's small and cute, and they really don't know what to do, so they kill her. Out of the goodness of their hearts, so she doesn't have to suffer. She only killed few of their buddies, after all. Obviously, they were smelly jerks, nobody liked.
Now this is the most stupid, non-plausible part.
Why, you ask?
They are soldiers in an empty building. She's a cute female, and she can't defended herself or say 'NO". In fact, all that she can do is lay there, on her back, and whisper from time to time "Kill me". If that situation had actually occurred, every warm-blooded soldier would hear something very similar to ''kill me'', except that the first word would start whit an ''F''.
Not only that they wouldn't kill her, they would have brought their best medic to keep her alive for as long as possible. Everybody, from the lowest private to the nearby general, would've visited her.
After that, they would all kneel together and pray to the All Mighty that he keeps sending them the same kind of enemies. As the old saying goes, if you have to fight, fight beautiful barley legal Asian teenage girls.
At the end of this horrible movie, they all march 18-century style, with bayonets and all, and sing a Mike Mouse Club song. I'm guessing they are attacking Wonderland with magic, make-believe plovers.
And the main character is thinking about fucking a chick from his hometown.
HEY ASSHOLE; YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE YOU KILLED THE HOT SNIPER!
In short - War movie in which war is not seen, because he moved to the real war movies, and took all the fun with him.
Snake
Read Snake's brutal review of the movie ''FULL METAL JACKET'':
OK, I admit it, I haven't been to Vietnam for a long time. I also can't tell you what exactly I did there, but I had an opportunity to discover this interesting country, so I feel competent to express my opinion about this 'so called'' work of art. In any case, I know about 'Nam sure as shit more than you, so shut your whiny civilian mouth, and read on, you bastard.
Full metal jacket sucks ass!
What a fucking disappointment.
''One of the best war movies of all time'' - some asshole, somewhere, sometime.
If FMJ is a war movie, then I never had to endure the removal of 28 shrapnel peaces form my right knee. The movie has nothing to do with war. But it lures the audience, doing the ''just few more minutes of drama-shit, and then the real mayhem starts'' maneuver.
For the first half, the main characters chill out like a bunch of lazy Mexicans on their Basic. Uuu, Basic Training, big deal! Jump, run, wash yourself, jump, run, shoot, sleep, eat, jerk of, jump, run, and so on. That's it. It's like boy scouts, but with grown men and real kick-ass bullets. But in FMJ, it depicted like hell on earth. Sarge doesn't like the fat kid, bu-hu-hu. Give me a bucket to contain my overflowing tears! Jesus, that's what he does. What was he supposed to do-relax, and then fat boy gets a tracer incendiary round in the crotch 5 weeks later? Sarge only does his job, and the movie depicts him as a crazy sadist.
Did he stick a hot poker smears with chilies in Pile's anus? No.
Did he pour acid on he's cheeks, and later rub some salt in the chemical burns? NO!
Did he have sexual intercourse with the maimed Pile's mom, dad, 8-year-old brother, uncle, cousin from Alabama, neighbours, firs high school sweetheart, teachers, janitor, swimming instructor, and his dog Rex? He didn't even do that.
Maybe he messed him up a little, but that only made Pile, like a real, hard solder, hop on a express train to Crazytown. Well, if that's reality, I'm a field medic. And I would rather be a rotting corpse in a necro-night club then a fieldy, who are bigger towels than those of a 400-pound beach enthusiast. But, not only is this a fairy tale, it's a boring fairy tale. I fell asleep until he finally didn't buy the farm. And before that, he shoots the Sarge. Well, that was a surprising twist, if you're a blind retard from Bulgaria.
At this point, I'm going crazy. Is this a war movie or what?! Where are gooks on fire, screaming children, napalm, torn, bleeding limbs, black Huis spreading death from far above? Finally, when chubby does his murder/suicide thing, I think to myself: ''Now the shit goes down!'' The remaining characters go overseas, and I'm craving a good bloodletting.
But, surprise, things there are equally peaceful. So we have some more drama: he's a journalist, they don't get him, and so he has to go to the front. Once there, he introduces himself to the rest of the gang, and it's like watching speed dating in a war zone. They do some chitchat , meet some hookers, then do a little more talking - JESUS CHRIST! Was this movie designed to torture the simple, explosion-loving viewer?
Just then, when I was preparing to shoot the TV, chaos of war begins. At this point, the movie could pull out and leave a decent impression - there's a sniper.
Where, what? What do we do? BANG! MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!
Next 15 minutes - great. But then they find the sniper, and it's the drama part all over again. She's small and cute, and they really don't know what to do, so they kill her. Out of the goodness of their hearts, so she doesn't have to suffer. She only killed few of their buddies, after all. Obviously, they were smelly jerks, nobody liked.
Now this is the most stupid, non-plausible part.
Why, you ask?
They are soldiers in an empty building. She's a cute female, and she can't defended herself or say 'NO". In fact, all that she can do is lay there, on her back, and whisper from time to time "Kill me". If that situation had actually occurred, every warm-blooded soldier would hear something very similar to ''kill me'', except that the first word would start whit an ''F''.
Not only that they wouldn't kill her, they would have brought their best medic to keep her alive for as long as possible. Everybody, from the lowest private to the nearby general, would've visited her.
After that, they would all kneel together and pray to the All Mighty that he keeps sending them the same kind of enemies. As the old saying goes, if you have to fight, fight beautiful barley legal Asian teenage girls.
At the end of this horrible movie, they all march 18-century style, with bayonets and all, and sing a Mike Mouse Club song. I'm guessing they are attacking Wonderland with magic, make-believe plovers.
And the main character is thinking about fucking a chick from his hometown.
HEY ASSHOLE; YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE YOU KILLED THE HOT SNIPER!
In short - War movie in which war is not seen, because he moved to the real war movies, and took all the fun with him.
Snake
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