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July 29, 2005 >> Book ReportAfter powering through Palahniuk's Haunted, I figured I would churn out a brief tributary review. Isn't it funny that when we're kids, a book report seems like the most senseless and horrible punishment of all time - we have to READ?? and WRITE ABOUT READING? - and here I am voluntarily doing that exact same thing? Oh, how the years heaped upon our shoulders twist and fillet our minds...
Haunted is the story of several dozen aspiring writers who voluntarily isolate themselves from the world for three months to complete their respective masterpieces. Each character is quirky and crooked, known only by monickers which describe them: "Miss Sneezy", "The Missing Link" and "The Earl of Slander" are but a few. When the writers arrive at an abandoned theatre complex and realize that they are imprisoned there, a collective agreement to turn their experience into a horrific ordeal worthy of film rights and talk-show circuitry pulls the party into a spiral of debauchery and self-mutilation.
Each chapter reveals more of their depravity, punctuated by a brief poem about the chapter's key character and a short story they have written that illustrates their past.
The short stories are, for the most part, fabulous and disgusting. "Guts" is the most memorable, painting a tale of a chronic masturbator's mad search for a better way to get off. I found myself squirming as Pahalniuk (gleefully?) forced me to contend with the gory details of a boy drowning in a pool, his intestines roiling out his ass and ensnared in filter suction, comforted only by the floating globules of his own semen. Watching a movie, you can look away - it's over soon. In a book, it's not quite that simple. It's horrific but you're doing it to yourself - reading Haunted is much like the echoed instances of self-abasement that its characters become so obsessed with.
Most of the short stories are similarly dark and forboding: a teenager with a hyper-aging disease, tricking suburbanite volunteers at an old-age home into fucking him and later blackmailing them with statutory rape charges; a tick-tocking Nightmare Box which renders catatonic anyone willing to peek inside and see Proof that this world is an illusion. Every single story is intriguing and wonderful in its own particular, sordid way but as the book progressed, I often found myself noticing missing connections, unfinished business. The cast of characters is large - perhaps too large - and the link between each protagonist's actions in the theatre and their stories of the past are tenuous and often superficial. It feels forced, somehow - Pahalniuk clearly wrote many of the short stories first and then attempted to build an overarching narrative around them. It shows.
As the backstories are slowly revealed and the situation in the theatre become increasingly desperate (sabotage, murder, cat-eating, cannibalism, dead baby devouring and soforth), the whole book becomes too fantastical to take seriously. The short stories work well because they slide along the edges of reality: bizarre but believable, frightening because they could be. In contrast, the demented antics of the theatre survival-horror narrative seem ludicrous, too utterly fucked to be relateable to any kind of reality the reader might know.
We're supposed to believe these people have transcended human-like reactions to death and pain and abominations, just because they have aspirations of fame? We're supposed to gather some kind of insight into humanity as we read about giddy, trite conversation around a corpse while remaining survivors eat the roasted flesh from a woman's buttock? I can't do it. I won't. I became shell-shocked: indifferent of every death, glossing over each new depravity. At some point, I realized that Pahaliuk was clearly shooting for shock value, hysterical with glee over how far he could push the boundaries. And the book suffers as a result.
The inter-chapter poems are mediocre at best, relying on repetitive phrasing to build connections between each character's motivation (which is, predicably, to forge themselves into a worthy story) and hammer home the book's prevailing point which is that conflict and strife will always have a home with humanity: we forever create and fear our own Devil. It's a worthy point to make, but I raced through each poem simply because I knew it preceded another glorious tragedy.
After the last chapter there is a page listing for each short story, so you can go back and re-read the ones you liked. I smiled when I turned the final page and saw this, because it reinforces what I've concluded: that the book is simply a loosely fit container for these tales, a finnicky attempt to bond them together. The short stories are the focus, the dark meat, the midnight spice. Everything else is just filler.
Haunted is very worthwhile but a book, it is not. Not really. Not wholly. A compilation of solid, twisted, blackened tales, it is. And on this level, it succeeds spectacularly.
Posted by Chris at 01:01 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
July 27, 2005 >> Here In My Bedroom
There's a pretty rad article at Wired about the history of the Internet and its forthcoming role as the Machine: a learning database of collective human knowledge and memory. The author seems to think that this is where true AI will emerge; from the system that holds our lives and histories in ever-increasing capacities and will link synapse to synapse in an eternal effort to find Meaning. It's a little grandiose at times and raises some horrific concerns (SKYNET, anybody?) but the piece is definitely worth checking out, if only to laugh about how cluelessly media pundits reacted to the Internet at its earliest conception. Here - I'll even link the article for ya.
I often wonder about bloggers whose journals feature page upon page of updates that simply send readers off to another part of the Internet to read corporate media stories about giant bio-engineered tomatoes or Harry Potter or whatever. It seems a little redundant, to me, to become a cataloguing system of What's Interesting - I mean, at least offer a few words of your own to validate your participation in this nebulous Machine we're building. ":):)Hahaha omg check this out!! LOL!" does NOT count, by the way. I feel that The Machine will, one day, erroneously conclude that colons and parentheses
::: + ))) = :) :) :)
are surefire signs of human retardation and distribute horrific digital punishments accordingly. To be safe I will no longer use punctuation of any kind
Yeah I'm takin it easy today and nerding out with a book on my sheetless bed
This no punctuation thing already sucks fuck you The Machine I will gorge on hyphens and I will use ellipses incorrectly
But first - - - - - -
Chuck Palahniuk s Haunted has me by the balls... ... ... ... ...
Pages and frames
Posted by Chris at 07:23 PM >> Commentations (9) | Permalink
July 26, 2005 >> Gather
Fold the hand, retract the arm. Pull away now or you'll leave limbs torn and dangling behind as the world recedes beneath your pounding footsteps. You're going to need those appendages. You'll need them all.
Posted by Chris at 07:11 PM | Permalink
July 25, 2005 >> Hillsider
Hillside pictures and write-up!
Finally the Media page has something to do.
Posted by Chris at 05:20 PM >> Commentations (9) | Permalink
July 22, 2005 >> Firespinning
On balmy summer nights, girls wreath themselves in flame and flow across the soccer fields at Waterloo Park. They learnt How by practicing with rocks tied to bootstrings in Australia.
Posted by Chris at 07:20 PM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
July 21, 2005 >> Rapid Motion of Fingertips
New stuff on the ideas page.
Speed.
i got into a school in korea i'll be teaching kindergarteners and surly 15 year olds i expect them to be very bastard-y to me in their foreign way i will crack them i will make them mine
applying for grad school is harder than it seemed and writing CVs and letters of intent and references and it's all a bit much and i can lie my way into anything and there goes my head
reorganizing things brings back birthday cards with little plastic hearts glued onto a map of where i can find you and postcards from amsterdam talking about santa strippers and i know we never got to travel together but i don't love you now and maybe i never did
i keep pieces of you anyways because the memories turn me to stone
Posted by Chris at 05:37 PM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
July 20, 2005 >> On Eating Charmless Children & Ugly Dogs
After my eldest sister (16) finished telling me about how she's leaving on a mercy mission to Mexico tomorrow with her church group, we got deep:
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
so i got a job in korea (finally)
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
sweet
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
i'm gonna be teaching kindergarteners
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
muahahahaha
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
ahhh
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
i'd be afraid
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
i think i might bbq some of the less-charming children
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
and eat them
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
your so mean
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
i would season them with teriyaki sauce first!
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
it's not like i wouldn't do a good JOB of cooking them
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
they would be exquisite
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
you're so bad
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
no im not
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
im pretty sure it's acceptable over there
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
no that's dogs
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
im just trying to fit in with new cultures
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
ya im gonna eat a dog too
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
i'm not a big fan of dogs...
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
well as long as it's ugly
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
so it's only ok to eat ugly dogs?
MEHEEKO--tomorrow!!!!!!see ya' says:
ummm....ya
>>killeverse / girl on fire / FUCK YOU XEROX@!!@! says:
rad
Children are the future, if you don't eat them first.
Posted by Chris at 03:27 PM >> Commentations (3) | Permalink
July 19, 2005 >> Skipping Rope is the New Pink
I got my Belinda Stronach shirt today! Most people I pass on the street have been giving me very strange looks. Clearly they voted Conservative.
Also, while I am in the routine of writing letters:
| Dear Guys Who Work Out Across The Street Every Afternoon,
I appreciate the fact that you want to look buff and beefy. You have very nice tans and I'm sure that a litany of well-meaning, somewhat-dim, nothing-girls have lined up to suck your dicks in the past. Good job! Still, I have to question your work-out tactics. When one guy is skipping rope while the other aggressively growls incentives ("DOOOO it! Work that burn! Ride that snake!"), I worry. The fact that you listen to a Dance Mix album from the early 90s to pump yourselves up is even worse. When I see you taking a short break to headbang vigorously to 2 Unlimited (don't think I don't see you!) and then reassert your manliness with a few pull-ups, I kind of wish you weren't my neighbours anymore. Perhaps you could listen to some Metallica or G & R or something next time. Also, wear shirts. You jiggle. love (but not in that way), Chris Clemens |
Posted by Chris at 03:26 PM >> Commentations (5) | Permalink
July 18, 2005 >> More Important Questions
As Carly reminds me, long ago we stumbled across this crazy website selling a book about introducing marijuana to kids. You can check out some sample pages of It's Just A Plant online, and one particularly bizarre image led me to inquire further:
| Subject: Important Question!
After perusing your website, I have one burning question: love, |
To my great amusement, I got a reply almost instantly:
| Subject: re: Important Question!
Dude, It's HALLOWEEN!!!!! Unfortunately, that doesn't come across in the few pages we've posted online. The rest of the story explains it all a bit more. And, for the record.. little Jackie ain't ever smoked a bud in her Hope that settles your curiosity. Let us know if you have any other ciao, Ramona Cruz |
Oh my.
Posted by Chris at 03:34 PM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
>> Dear CityTV, IMPORTANT ISSUES!
More about how I turned out to be Not Crazy later! In the meantime, I wrote CityTV these thoughtful emails:
| Dear CityTV,
I don't understand your censorship of Dazed & Confused. I mean, sure, slap it with an 18A rating for drugs and sex - that's all fine - but what with the painful audio chopping of the word "pussy"? Completely ignoring the fact that other, 'more offensive' profanities remain unscathed, blanking out "pussy" renders at least 2 jokes incomprehensible and leaves the end of the movie looking preeeeetty retarded (and that's saying a lot for a stoner flick). |
Oh yes. I actually sent them this. And 3 minutes later:
| Dear CityTV,
I am clearly SO ENRAGED by your communist censorship manifesto that I mistakenly complained about Dazed & Confused, NOT Half Baked as was rightly due. However, Dazed & Confused is also an excellent movie for big potheads. You can't blame me for mixing them up. Seriously. |
Our combined retardedness makes me giggle like a filthy Thai man-whore. A STUPID man-whore, with a Thai submarine that has screen doors to keep the bugs out.
Posted by Chris at 02:44 AM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
July 17, 2005 >> Social
Once upon a time I thought I had some dreadful anti-social disease, a bi-polar bleakness that meant I was crazy.
When I was in elementary school, I would sit in the basement and play Dragon Warrior until church friends came and dragged me away from the TV. At the time, I resented them for coming between me and a much anticipated Lvl. 50. Sociability was overrated. I learned not to show my bitterness, and they learned to get high on designer drugs and listen to Aerosmith without their father The Minister finding out. Church kids are always the worst.
When I was in junior high, I counter-lashed. I whored myself out for peer attention and talked on the phone for hours at a time about nothing at all. I couldn't stand to be alone and I tried too hard. I learned that the popular group can turn on you in a heartbeat and the worst of them learned that experimenting with sex leads to teenage pregnancy and a full-time job at Sobey's. Fuck them, but also fuck me for retarding myself for 2 years. I realize now that leaving me behind was the kindest thing they could have done.
When I was in high school, I was a relatively well-adjusted fellow once I figured out who I was. Situated comfortably between the extremities of Recluse and Social Slut, I didn't really fit well anywhere but I fit okay in lots of places. I had a girlfriend and a job and a car and I went to some of the right parties. Still, one night I found myself wrapped in darkness for no logical reason, stalking the streets and furiously agitated by a simple phone call. "Come," she said through the tangled wires and perforated receiver. "We're hanging out. You should come." I stepped on sidewalk cracks instead, hating everything.
Black moods clouded my head every so often and I found that the only way to beat them was to drown myself in solitude. My bitterness invariably receded and I would apologize for being such a snapcase when it did, but I was worried: worried because I wasn't happy with what should make me happy, distressed over nothing. Was I freakish? An anti-social monster of epic proportions?
...more later.
Posted by Chris at 06:01 PM | Permalink
July 15, 2005 >> Happy Discover Laurier Day!
Today, drag your daughter to Wilfrid Laurier University, the post-secondary education of her choice. She needs to go to important seminars and tour the campus and see what great academic adventures await her in the fall! You are confident that this school will make a woman of her, will turn her into the fine accounting executive or CEO or Important Rich Girl that you've always dreamed of. She'll finally reach her true potential after years of dicking around.
"Look at all the trees and parking lots and balloons! Isn't this cool? Check out these friendly volunteers and their informative poster-boards!" They smile, therefore they are. "You could volunteer, you know. This could be you." This will be you.
Your little girl is dressed scantily, just like all the other little girls. She's got a blue skirt and a white halter top and a deep tan that goes far beneath the skin. She strides four feet in front of you, calm and aloof and scandalized by your presence. She's like a dog on a leash, straining to run free without breaking a sweat. All around you, other parents are walking their kids too.
Guide your daughter into a seminar about Human Resources, where the girl running the presentation throws up in her mouth and bravely swallows before continuing her narrative on sexual harassment. Nobody notices but you. Tragic, these stomach viruses. And yet she bravely shoulders on! This girl could teach your kid about tenacity.
Later, buy a hot dog and a hamburger from the nice Shinerama people in the hot, hot sun. It's for charity! Some AIDS thing, you think. You don't know it, but they fully intend on fleecing your daughter for every penny you give her.
Take a tour of the Little House residence. You quickly find out that it's an all-male residence and nudge your little girl: "Guess you won't really be seeing this place again, eh?" She rolls her eyes. You walk down the hallway and pass by an open room: two scruffy kids are laughing in front of computers. You peek in and are relieved to see that the beds are small - far, far too small to fit your daughter + some rapist boy.
It's time to go. As you head back to the parking lot, listen carefully as the Little House doors close and you'll hear one of the scruffy kids laughing: "She might not live in Little House, but she'll sure be sleeping there a lot!" The crows scream farewell from the treetops.
Go home and pour yourself a scotch. Maybe two.
Posted by Chris at 02:44 PM >> Commentations (1) | Permalink
July 14, 2005 >> Master Quiz... I'm done with thee
The Master Quiz has swept across a tiny portion of the internet, and I'm about ready to let it die. For a few days, I was alternately vindicated and horrified by the spread, and generally entertained by the vast range of responses you fine people came up with. Then the backlash began. There was talk of peeing in my cutlery drawer, and fucking my dad. I wept a little. If the Master Quiz has taught me anything, anything at all, it's that Internet People are beautiful, nitpicky bastards.
MASTER QUIZ AWARDS
Sintrospection - Dan
Creative Lemon Twist - Dave
Biggest Ass (An Admirable Feat) - Regan
Evil Human - Corwin
Most Likely To Lead A Love Gnome Revolution - Laura
Thanks for playing folks! But our princess is in another castle...
Posted by Chris at 01:26 PM >> Commentations (14) | Permalink
July 12, 2005 >> Master Quiz... you are dark and gothic
Answers! I am mightily pleased with the quiz-combating approaches of those worthy heroes tagged yesterday: you should go check out their answers.
I would like to take this time to also call out:
Tudor - given poor Laura's sickness, it would only be right and noble and chivalrous of you to take her spot. She has elected to take the Master Quiz time-trial instead, which is hardly adequate fulfillment of her quizzely duties.
Jones - like you have anything better to do?
Shirley - welcome back to the sunny beaches of Canada!
Okay answering time. I'm scared.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
THE MASTER QUIZ
Loss.
1. Forced to choose between the three, which would you rather lose: your vision, your hearing or your four limbs? Why?
I would choose hearing, although it's a tough decision. After seeing It's All Gone, Pete Tong, I realized that life after hearing is very doable, although the loss of music would be a grave loss indeed. For a while I toyed with choosing the limbs and having evil robotic attachments installed onto my nubs, but that would be way costlier than learning to read lips.
2. If you ever lost your name, where might it be found?
Attached to the bottom of Roger Clemens' baseball cleat.
Gain.
3. You find a blank check, fully endorsed by a high-ranking executive at Microsoft and completely redeemable, lying on the sidewalk. An obviously needy street person snatches it and runs away. What do you do?
I would chase that bastard down. Reasoning? A homeless person seems fairly unlikely to be able to cash a cheque of such glorious magnitude. They would go to jail (which might be better than the street, but still...). So yeah, I would chase 'em down and take the cheque and take Microsoft for about 10 mil - pocket change - and use some to start my own bar called Girl On Fire, and the rest I would give to random unemployeds who manage to survive the fiendish Death Maze (also financed by Microsoft). I would donate three dollars to Live 8 because, you know, they're so effective at dealing with poverty.
4. Happiness is subjective and often very complex. An ultra-swishy, Robin Williams type genie offers you guaranteed True Love, Financial Success or Fame - but the catch is that when you pick one, you will never find either of the other two in your lifespan. Which, if any, type of happiness do you ask for?
I don't much care for money, which may seem odd given my previous answer, but it's true. Money would be NICE, but it's not really a goal beyond basic necessity. So fuck Financial Success. Fame and True Love are both very enticing, but I'm the kind of person who would probably rue the choice many years later - upon reflection, I would probably opt to just pick D) None Of The Above and let fate roll me around. That way I could mercilessly mock the genie with all the comfort of knowing that he couldn't revenge-curse my wish.
Sex & Love.
5. Love is like having your insides renovated by tiny gnomes with pickaxes: True or False?
True. Pickaxes don't necessarily have to be painful in a bad way. The love gnomes have WHMIS training. They know what they're doing.
6. If your sex life had to be personified by two animals locked in mortal combat, which two battling beasts would best describe your experiences? Be honest: did you just pick two random animals or do your choices actually mean something?
An octopus and a hydra. CRYPTIC!
Divinity.
7. If you were an all-powerful God required to choose a single tenet for your loyal worshippers to live by, what law would you pick?
This God-being says "Thou shalt not lie with any donkey on the fourth sabbath of the eight month." I like to think that if I was a God, I would be dreadfully trite... sorta like the Old Testament Hebrew god!
8. Centuries later, other Gods start moving in on your territory. How do you stop them from stealing the faith of your people? HINT: Cool lightning bolts from heaven might be a start.
Belief is fear. Fear is ten thousand knives falling from the sky, along with the occasional spoon or fork.
Et Cetera.
9. Choose one: You are nothing and the world is everything, or the world is nothing and you are everything.
The world is nothing and I am everything (still on my divinity kick... and selfishness. Can't forget selfishness and narcissism.)
10. If I told you that your answers to this quiz were all lies, would you ponder the meaning of truth? Or would you just go make French toast while thinking about what an asshole I am?
You need to just shut the hell up is what you need. Go make me some French toast, you smarmy biatch!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Posted by Chris at 04:30 PM >> Commentations (5) | Permalink
July 11, 2005 >> Master Quiz... I see you have returned
Quizzes are interesting, mainly for the reason that they exist in blogs and LiveJournals simply so people can offer readers glimpses into their personalities without exerting any real talent or effort. They're a beautiful crutch for the uninspired; a tightly knit gourd to spill any mind into.
The problem with quizzes, however, is that they tend to be boring. You see the same old questions about favorite colours and WHAT ARE YOU DOING RIGHT NOW??? and are you a virgin and who your bestest friend is, and these memes are tired, decrepit sluts. They've been passed around the cyber-block far too many times.
Thusly I present for your approval the Master Quiz. Much like the Master Sword in most Legend of Zelda games, the Master Quiz is here, primarily, to fuck shit up. There are only 10 questions because nobody wants to answer 1000, and they're all hypothetical "What If's" and "Which's". They ask what you would choose, not what you have chosen in the past.
Without further ado,
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
THE MASTER QUIZ
Loss.
1. Forced to choose between the three, which would you rather lose: your vision, your hearing or your four limbs? Why?
2. If you ever lost your name, where might it be found?
Gain.
3. You find a blank check, fully endorsed by a high-ranking executive at Microsoft and completely redeemable, lying on the sidewalk. An obviously needy street person snatches it and runs away. What do you do?
4. Happiness is subjective and often very complex. An ultra-swishy, Robin Williams type genie offers you guaranteed True Love, Financial Success or Fame - but the catch is that when you pick one, you will never find either of the other two in your lifespan. Which, if any, type of happiness do you ask for?
Sex & Love.
5. Love is like having your insides renovated by tiny gnomes with pickaxes: True or False?
6. If your sex life had to be personified by two animals locked in mortal combat, which two battling beasts would best describe your experiences? Be honest: did you just pick two random animals or do your choices actually mean something?
Divinity.
7. If you were an all-powerful God required to choose a single tenet for your loyal worshippers to live by, what law would you pick?
8. Centuries later, other Gods start moving in on your territory. How do you stop them from stealing the faith of your people? HINT: Cool lightning bolts from heaven might be a start.
Et Cetera.
9. Choose one: You are nothing and the world is everything, or the world is nothing and you are everything.
10. If I told you that your answers to this quiz were all lies, would you ponder the meaning of truth? Or would you just go make French toast while thinking about what an asshole I am?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Holy shit! I'll answer these myself tomorrow, but I'm also going to do the trendy and expected thing by calling out various people:
Dan - you tagged me with that music quiz, you sadistic bastard! Now it's my turn.
Carly - dooooooo it.
Laura - just because I know you hate quizzes, but also partially because you said I was fucked. Sweet revenge!
Dave Alexander - I think your answers would intrigue me mightily.
Blair - because you have a new blog that needs to be pimped.
Sra - cuz you know you wanna.
I would be gleefully amused if other people took up the torch and answered the questions too, but if I called everybody out, all in a row, then I would just be an obnoxious cocksucker and this post would be way huge. Sally on, fair folk. Sally onwards.
Posted by Chris at 03:49 PM >> Commentations (6) | Permalink
July 09, 2005 >> Dreamscape Dogs
I just woke up from a somewhat peculiar dream.
I was in an underground complex, all futuristic and metallic and silvery-shiny, watching a space marine follow a little robot-dog-thing down a hallway. I was floating above the action; an observer, invincible. The space marine lost the robot-dog in a cavernous room - a room which was quite obviously a Boss Lair: there were weird tapestries and ornate statues as ominous decoration, and... well, you know when you just know something in a dream? I knew that this was the space marine's objective and, as with all video games and dreams, something bad was about to happen to him.
Sure enough, it did: everything flashed red (DANGER!) and all of a sudden the marine was tearing back the way he had come, hotly pursued by a very slathering and bio-organically unholy version of the dog that led him down here. He didn't have any weapons so he ran furiously as the evil demon-dog chomped at his heels. I knew exactly where the marine had to go: when he got back to the ladder he had descended on, and it was raised and inaccessible, I understood that he had to swing around the outside of the room on a series of rails and escape through the laundry hatch (LAUNDRY HATCH???). He completed the task flawlessly. Fade to black.
Now here comes the bizarre part. Directly afterwards I found myself back in the futuristic complex, watching a robo-dog saunter off down the hallway. It was the exact same dream, the exact same scenario, except I was first-person this time - I was the marine, no longer an omnipotent observer. "Well shit," I thought. "I'd better follow that robo-dog and see what he's up to." I did.
Back in the Boss Lair, I took the time to examine some of the decor a little more closely. There was some cool shit, although the only thing I remember in any level of detail was a giant wood-carved dog, lying belly down on a shag carpet with an enormous erection splayed out behind it. I was understandably disturbed and even moreso when the RED began flashing and I knew that it was time to Get The Fuck Out, just as the marine had in the previous episode. So I started runnin' on back and, sure enough, I turned once to see a giant set of gore-encrusted teeth and blood-red eyes bearing down on me.
I had more trouble with the demon-dog than my predecessor. The bastard kept catching me and chewing me up - it didn't really hurt, but I could definitely sense my Health Bar or whatever depleting as this ravenous beast tore chunks out of my back. To add to the video game experience, I had some kinda speed boost ability which let me run faster than the dog for a brief while before exhausting itself. I could also turn, from time to time, and whack the demon-dog back onto the horizon with some kind of punch or kick or... something. All I know is that the dog kept coming back and I couldn't run fast enough. It was moderately terrifying over an extended period of time.
Finally I reached the ladder and, just like before, knew that I had to swing around on these rail things to escape through the tactfully and rather strangely placed Laundry Chute. I had seconds left before the base exploded or filled with poison gas or released more hellhounds or God Knows What my mind had in store for me, so I would have to be quick about it.
Well, long story short, I definitely failed. I was about halfway around the room, dangling above the demon-dog by my arms, and everything started to fade out. Blacken. But... but... I wasn't at the laundry chute yet! I panicked. I dropped. I woke up. I knew that I hadn't made it and I had the comforting sensation that I had more lives, that I could just 'reload the save file' and try again. But what the hell does it mean when you can mastermind and direct a dream-escape but can't actually make it yourself?? And what was with the fearsome dog-boner statue? Its wang wasn't even facing the right way!
I hope my subconscious isn't telling me that I need to fuck dogs, or even like them. War broods on the horizon of my mind if that happens to be the case.
Posted by Chris at 12:16 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
July 07, 2005 >> Something Blue
Today London fell. It was really only a matter of time - the city has such a rich history of bathing in flames. The dead are buried and life marches onwards; petulant, wary, more and more granite and steel with every shuddering breath. Terror reigns, but only when it hides in the shadows and deep places of the night. Terror unveiled is a weak, pitiable, terrible terror indeed.
Joining the Empire was a poor management decision. The deceased are unimpressed - global cliques never helped anybody except the Kings of the Castle, the Lords of the Manor, the Emperor. War drums sound; the tribes are gathering, despite... Despite.
Posted by Chris at 05:32 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
July 06, 2005 >> Tidemeover
I just spent nearly eight hours wrestling with text files, twisting and editing and formatting them into a wretched InDesign master plan - the nefarious C-Spot Training Manual 2005-2006 - so I'm all like "fuck computers and blogging today, yo!" I really don't want to touch a keyboard for a long, long while. However, I am touching one right now, and touching it good... mmmm yeah.
Okay, enough. The other day I wrote a spicy review of the Team Sleep show that me and Popular Jackie attended. You should read it. Roosters on the road, and also roosters playing guitar (poorly). Tour bus orgies and projectile vomiting. Metalheads and scensters. All that good shit. GO READ!
Posted by Chris at 05:36 PM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
July 05, 2005 >> OSAP: the sinkhole of champions
I just paid off all my OSAP and now I am horrifically poor. Seven grand to nothing in only fifteen minutes poor. $50 dollars for the next two weeks poor. That's pretty poor, ne?
OSAP makes it rather difficult to repay the full amount of your loan, should you happen to have that kind of cash. They are all too eager to put you into some kind of payment plan, whereby you are continually forking over bling over eight hundred years in handy-dandy monthly installments. Meanwhile (and OSAP doesn't like to talk about this), you are paying gigantic fucking interest rates from the second you graduate up to the moment you shuffle decrepitly into their offices in 2805 to pay back that very last dime, or ten-piece simolean, or whatever currency will be called in the distant future.
Since convocation, I apparently racked up $75 bucks in interest charges - and that's on a $6500 loan. I can only imagine the sheer terror experienced by those with debts of twenty grand or more. It's true terror, I'll bet. Student Loan terror. That shit is Real, playa! Real! Run away!
If, perchance, you want to drop some cash into the gaping maw of your very own Student Loan, and I really honestly truly think you should (unless you think poverty is rad), I highly recommend you call these people up instead of dilly-dallying around the webpage. The webpage is trickery and lies and goatmilk: it will not tell you how to Get Money In The Loan-Hole. It will offer you forms and fax numbers and Flash games where you can punch the snooty dean for a chance to win an iPod Shuffle. The National Student Loan & Forced Backdoor Entry webpage is an evil, tricksy distraction and must be overcome for you to truly purge yourself of any and all Student Loans. However, if you call on the telephone device, you just might have a chance.
I am poverty-stricken, but I have no debt. No debt, sadly, does not feed the zombies. I will soon be selling off various household items so I can continue the lavish lifestyle of smoking and eating cans of chili that I have enjoyed for so many years.
Posted by Chris at 04:07 PM >> Commentations (10) | Permalink
July 04, 2005 >> Longish Weekend
*muffled roar of the crowd*
mrwrmrwrmwrmrwmrwmrwmwrmwrm... BARBEQUE ... mrwmrwmrwmrwmwrmwr ... FIREWORKS ... mrwrmrwmrwmrwmrwmrw ... COTTAGE ... mrwmrwmrwmrmwrmwmrwmrwmrmwr ... BEERS & BITCHES ... mrwrmwrmwrmwrmwrmw ... LAWN CHAIR OF FLAWLESS MUTILATION.
*Enter Scandy. He is attired in a plaid shirt, funky-fresh denim jean shorts and the raiments of the Archangel Gabriel. He also sports a beanie propellor hat with the Canadian maple leaf embroidered on the front.*
Scandy: You know, it's great to be a Canadian. A simple Canadian man with a simple Canadian job. A Canadian who has somehow managed to acquire the immortal garments of God's holiest warrior. I wear this mantle of purity with an appropriate level of politeness and - what the fuck?
*Enter the Lawn Chair of Flawless Mutilation. It is a fearsome seat, folding and unfolding with the dark rhythms of hell. Gore encrusts its gaping cupholder maw.*
Scandy: Gah!
Lawn Chair of Flawless Mutilation: UNGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!
Scandy: Vestments of Yahweh, protect me!
*The Lawn Chair of Flawless Mutilation bounds over and flawlessly mutilates Scandy. Only a single piece of denim, fluttering slowly to the ground, remains.*
*muffled roar of the crowd*
mrwmrwmrwmrwmrwmwmrwr ... CANADA DAY ... mrwrmwrmwmrmwrmwrwrw ... CAMPING ... mrwrmwrmwrmwrmwmwrw ... FOOT LONG SAUSAGES ... mrwmrwmrwmrmwrmwrmw ... SO I SOLD THIS FUCKING DUMMY THE 'MAJESTIC RAIMENTS OF THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL' LAST NIGHT... SUCKER PAID FOR MY KID'S ABORTION!
*spotlight up on the Lawn Chair of Flawless Mutilation.*
Lawn Chair of Flawless Mutilation: Always get your religious artifacts checked by the local clergy before buying to avoid fakes! GRRRRUAAAARRR!!! THE MORE YOU KNOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!
Posted by Chris at 04:17 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
July 02, 2005 >> The Maple Leaf & The Missing Rib
I'm proud of Canada.
I'm proud that Canadian nationalism is imbued with a tasty degree of cynicism and self-depreciation. That keeps us Real.
I'm proud that our government, no matter how middling, is actually taking steps to push us away from the American Majority. The American Majority is not somewhere I want to be, nor do I want their views jammed into my eye sockets by various powerful lobby groups with tentacles in all the right campaign funds and media stocks. I want to smoke pot without going to jail and I would marry another man if they weren't so damn ugly and didn't have, you know, penises. Penises freak me out.
I am not proud of Live 8. Live 8 is stupid; an orgy of self-congratulatory dick-sucking. Look at us! We're raising awareness of poverty with free buttons and white armbands that show we want to MAKE POVERTY HISTORY! We have all the best bands playing for free and our catch-phrase is "We don't want your money, we just want your voice."
Think about this. Everyone already knows that poverty exists. It's been beaten into our brains by so many public access specials and celebrity-driven fundraisers that I find it difficult to believe that anyone doesn't know about poverty by now. Maybe not everybody cares, but we all know - it's there, in the back of our minds: flies on corpses, emaciated skeletons, homeless helpless. We've got media fatigue. Potent, vivid images dull over time and empathy erodes. Ideological imprints are a dime a dozen and - SURPRISE - haven't really worked to this point. An awareness campaign at this point is stupid, very stupid and meaningless and a waste of opportunity.
Lobbying for more government aid? Please. What a backhanded, fruitless effort. Influencing the G8 summit? Live 8 just keeps the masses happy and distracted while the walls are built higher and higher.
If you really want to make poverty history, you'll take 50 or 60 of the dollars that the Western comfortables would pour down their throats in a typical night of binge drinking and *gasp* GIVE IT TO THE POOR. You would make some money off those Live 8 tickets and not use it to bolster advertising or pay the 'volunteers' or go on cocaine rampages - you would give the fucking money to the poor. That's what they need. That's what Making Poverty History is; reallocating wealth from those who don't need it to those who do.
Not stroking your own collective cock in celebration of the profound realization that people are dying right now on the other side of the world. Masturbation is fun. Cue guitar solo.
Posted by Chris at 01:49 PM >> Commentations (7) | Permalink
July 01, 2005 >> Patriot act
Canada Day! It comes long before July 4th, on the near side of the long weekend, just so you know that it is not actually Independence Day and we aren't Americans. I think that's enough, don't you? Our long weekend begins on the Friday, theirs ends on the Monday... We are clearly dealing with two very different and distinct cultures here. We owe Bush the Jezebel-whore no allegiance.
Posted by Chris at 11:13 AM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink