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Ah! The Resolutions.
It’s the beginning of a fresh year, so suck in that fresh 2008 oxygen. Suck it in hard, suck it in fast, because you won’t have long before this set of 366 days turns the tables on you. Like every other year, it’s going to drag the life force from your body, little by little until you rot and wilt. That’s why I enjoy distracting myself with New Year’s Resolutions!
Less wilting—more resolutioning
Arion’s New Year’s Resolutions for 2008
- Get a real toothbrush:
End this fruitless Brillo pad charade. - Continue not to fly on airplanes for fear that I’m on the No Fly List:
I need to travel, and since high speed panda isn’t an option, I want to go by air. Blimps or hot air balloons are still available to me, as far as I know. - Paint the piece that Josh Hagen wants:
The one made up of a bunch of small paintings predominately featuring boobs and a turtle. I need to get my hand back up and get myself back into art. Also, back into turtles. - 4) Learn to play the ocarina that I purchased:
The novelty of the thing has faded as well as my attention to it. I will never be able to woo a sufficient number of women without some sort of ocarina related skill. - Buy a fancier ocarina to renew the novelty of it all.
- Continue to look at the homes on the market:
Pray that the federal government doesn’t offer too good of a bail-out package. After all, I like my homes the same way I like my Ramen Noodles: cheap, minimal amounts of lead, and served with delicious bacon. I know, some will worry for my health, but I love my bacon… all meaty and fatty and served with eggs. El Drool! - Even if I don’t get to ride it, I will at least see a breathing unicorn:
I will also ride the unicorn. We’ll ride over the rainbow forests to Cupcakesville—a land of both cups and cakes—to visit Dr. David the Gnome. What’s that David? Tea time! Why yes, I would love a cup of Blackberry and Spice!HA!
That ‘corn will never see me coming!
- 7) Quit more things:
My life is way busy! I need to knock a few projects off or my platter. And by that, I don’t mean “finish them,” I mean “quit them.” It’s a well known fact that quitting is not only the quickest way out of something, but also the most rewarding way. You really get to stick it to “The Man” and show them who’s the boss. I’m gonna quit all kinds of cool stuff this year! Painting… unicorn hunting… writin
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Shameology
While in a public place today, a lady yelled to her friend, “My nipple hurts!”, seemingly without any regret. It was at this point in time that I stumbled upon the realization that there are three levels of shamelessness.
- Normal
- Virtually Shameless
- Completely Shameless
Only one of these groups is bad. A person should only really worry about being labeled as a member of that one group (Unless that person is going into politics). If you can’t guess what it is, you’re most likely in it.
Let’s go over each group. We’ll look into their details, much the same way I would review cookies at the market, attempting to select the most tongue favoring. Which faction will be my Archway Dutch Cocoa cookie? My most beloved of cookies.
Normal:
I use this term with a grain of salt–there is never a normal person. However, when it comes to shamelessness, these people account for the better part of the population. Or, at least it did at one time. Unfortunately, many people now seem to be migrating into the other two categories.
Too many people moving to other groups can be very dangerous. It’s the normal group that, as a whole, keep society running. Without a lot of normal people being doctors, lawyers, TV executives, electrical engineers, and small business owners; the human race would collapse into a system of nomadic tribes.
If everyone was as passionate or extreme as, say, Hunter S. Thompson we would enter a world that has spiraled into some sort of Mad Max style scenario. This is a world in which the sand dollar is be used as both currency and foodstuff. This is a world in which people take upon the task of actually building a Thunderdome.
Being a group, common traits are of course mostly shared.
- They have dignity
- They have pride
- May use the word “shoppe” when naming a business. A la The Coffee Shoppe.
Incidentally, if you’ve named a business with the word “shoppe”, give yourself +5 on the pompous ass meter. Furthermore, if you have used the word “shoppe”, that’s +1 on the very same meter.
Virtually Shameless
Admittedly, this is most likely where I belong. I most certainly would not use the word “Shoppe”.
The Virtually Shameless may also be known as slightly eccentric. In a way they are. They have a honed sense of the fine line between entertainment and self-respect. They do what others won’t by constantly walking perilously close to that line.
At any point in time these people could have a momentarily lapse in their sixth sense, slip, fall over the line, and tarnish their image for years to come. The bad decision could come in many forms. It could be as simple as telling the wrong joke to the wrong person or is could be as elaborate as dressing as Hitler for a Halloween party in Florida.
A Virtually Shameless person would most likely enjoy the limelight. Whereas, the normal people of the world would feel too much pressure, nervousness, or angst when thrown into such unfamiliar surrounding. This is not to say that Virtually Shameless people do not get stage fright. People come in all shades of gray, and even many of the Virtually Shameless get the jitters.
What defines this group from the muggles, if you will, is that they have the wherewithal to fight their way past any anxieties that may arise. I would venture that they often passionate about their ideas, and willing to put themselves on the line to see these ideas come to fruition.
The Virtually Shameless generally share the following traits
- They enjoy positive attention.
- They are passionate enough to put everything on the line for some stupid idea, concept, or ideology.
- Undying love of snack crackers. (Actually, I would venture that something like 80% of all people love snack crackers.)
Completely Shameless
Did somebody say, “limelight”? Enter the Completely Shameless.
There is no rhyme or reason to many of the things the members of this group say and do. Almost no forethought is put into the words that come out of their mouths. Even less thought is put into the repercussions of those words.
Yes, there the yelling, slapping, and laughing that you may see from some members of the Virtually Shameless. However, when dealing with the Completely Shameless, it comes in a much higher doses. In addition, when used by the Virtually Shameless, these techniques are carefully crafted and timed so that they elude to some subtext, or provide entertainment value. The Completely Shameless only brandish these tools around violently, like a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and–for some reason–dipped in honey mustard sauce.
Allow me to illustrate.
A Virtually Shameless Conversation
Josh: Arion, I forgot to mention that I stole your soul last night. I assure you, it was strictly an accident.
Arion: What trajectory! Have at you!
Arion delivers a swift, yet supple slap to Josh’s cheek. After this, they both enjoy hearty laughter.
A Completely Shameless Conversation
Jill: That’s my baby, and I want it back!
Tammy: Brad is my man now, and so is that baby!
At this point a normal person intervenes.
Brad: Girls! Let me axe the both of ya’ somethin’! Do you really want to see this kind of baby-mama-daddy-drama to go down?
And, cut! Of course the situation deteriorates into violence, and everyone watching gets a good laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.
What exactly compels this sort of person? I don’t really know. I’m going to need a few grants and a lot more research to figure that one out. However, we do know that most have the following in common.
- They enjoy any attention they can get. Their lives are important, and everyone else within yelling range needs to know why.
- They have an ego that’s the size of a Blue Whale. Although, much like the elusive beast, it may be concealing itself underwater, poised to strike.
- They are very good at finding other people who are Completely Shameless. Be careful, sometimes they travel in packs.
Notes and Addendums
Something to think about. One of the many blogs I read is that of Danah Boyd. Sometime after I had the idea for this post–but way before I got off my ass to write it–she wrote an interesting item about narcissism. Maybe we should start prepping the sand dollars.
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Childbirth Ideas
This is a post that I started a year ago or so and I never completely flushed it out. As I have little recollection of my old theories, I feel there is enough content here, with some slight additions, to post. If it seems sort of unorder and out of whack, then deal with it.
Enjoy!
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Childbirth.
We all know what it is*. I have a few questions about it, and, since I’m a male, they will probably be very stupid, innappropriate questions. Well, you know what?
Too bad.
I heard some people talking about childbirth, and I was thinking, “Why does childbirth hurt?” This spawned a few thoughts in my head. I feel like giving you my philosophical thoughts about childbirth. Beware, you’re in for a scare (maybe).
* - If you don’t know what childbirth is, I suggest sticking any two fingers up your ass and checking to feel if it’s decently warm. If the previous is true, then proceed to impale yourself on a brick. It may take multiple tries, but you’ll get it with time and training. ^_^
Why does childbirth hurt?
If females must bear children into the world to propagate the species and the very future of our race, why must it be such a pain in the ass/uterus/whatever? The thing is: It hurts. As you might have guessed, I have never given birth, so you might be asking yourself why I’m writing this. Well, if you find out, let me know. I have never personally felt this pain so I have to go by what I’ve heard and what I’ve seen/heard in media.
Childbirth Portrayals in the Media
As this is generally a horrible basis, movie births have a general concept: The mother hurts like Hell and tends to take it out on the man who “did it” to her. She’ll want all sorts of drugs to help with the pain. Good and bad movies alike have had childbirths in them. Good movies, such as Coneheads, and bad movies such as Nine Months and Junior. In most instances, childbirth is made out to be a very painful, yet very rewarding experience. I think they tend to exaggerate sometimes on the hectic antics of it, but as I’ve never witnessed a real childbirth, I can’t say. If some of the things I’ve seen going on in movie hospitals, I expect the surgeon general and the department of health to get off their asses and fix it, because that’s some crazy shit.
To think that is must have been significantly worse for those in the past who didn’t have as many methods of medicinal technology or none at all. By which, we could say that since childbirth has been facilitated due to knowledge and technology, it would be much more prominent. Does that mean that our own development of technology, due to our instincts of sex and survival, is leading to our eventual overpopulation? Maybe the said deity thinks we’re becoming too smart? Maybe it misses the old days of widespread, multi-form ignorance?
If so, why does sex feel so good?
If the above factors in, then is it a “test” from some agnostic deity to have us hold our instincts for sex to prevent childbirth, lest we overburden ourselves and our Earth, causing irreparable/fatal damage to the human race?
Is AIDS a “plague” brought upon the people because said deity thinks we’re popping out too many living environmental burdens?
Who knows? I’m just a man who can sperm and term-inate the relationship depending on the interference of law and perhaps social services. Why does something that feels so good lead to something so painful (although rewarding)? Perhaps it is so we’ll get caught up in the reproductive process in the beginning without much though of the consequences. Hell, we’ll even do it again and again. We’re human, and we’re known for doing things over and over regardless of the consequences. Maybe it’s all just a part of the great mystery of life. Or maybe the said deity thinks it’s funny. Either way, we have to deal with it.
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Saved by the Bell
I’ve spent a lot of time by myself this past month. During this time I have worked to achieve my masterwork. My narrative follows.
A ‘Saved by the Bell’ fan fiction
Written By ‘Professor’ Arion Londraville
“Screech,” Mr. Dewey repeated for the second time. The supple young boy turned away from his robot, Kevin, where he had been tirelessly tinkering. “Sorry, Mr. Dewey. I just had to make a few adjustments,” the boy replied. “Yes, I’m sure, but show and tell doesn’t last all day,” the teacher replied as Screech made his way to the front of the classroom.
Once in the front of the room Samuel ‘Screech’ Powers laid a nervous stare upon the class. This young Jewish boy had always been awkward in social situations, but fought through his tremors for the time being. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to show and explain to you my latest upgrades to Kevin. After many hours of work, Kevin now has the ability to send people through time, pick up girls, and make toast, and not necessarily in that order.” With a gulp, the young man brought his short speech to a stop for even he needed a moment to let the magnitude of the news sink in.
Zack, sloping back into the shape of his chair, spoke up in the moment’s silence. Talking out of turn was not uncommon for Zack, who was gifted with the skill of speechcraft, however, even he was surprised at the high-ceilinged statements. “Do you mean to tell us that your robot can send us to any time in history - ever?” Screech continued, “Yes, Zack. Allow me to demonstrate.”
To no avail, the nerd’s continuing eluded Zack. By the time Screech had even thought of forming his next sentence, Zack was already in a world draped with pink mist, daydreaming.
Ugh-
…
Okay, honestly, I’ve been trying to write this post for weeks. This task is at best, really fucking hard. My brain pulses and bleeds with every attempt I make to append a new paragraph. In all honesty, I have been confronted by the cold truth that Saved by the Bell fan fiction is my own personal 7th layer of Hell. Let you and I not tell each other lies, this pain and suffering also applies to the mere mention of the series.
In one sense, it’s a shame. No one shall ever know of how the girls were to be whisked away to Ancient Rome, how Zack and the guys get caught by the Roman guards in an attempt to save them, and how a masked gladiator would be their saving grace at the coliseum. No one will ever be allowed to learn the before mentioned gladiator is in fact Mr. Belding. Nor will I tell of how the kids travel with Kevin into the future for the Saved by the Bell / Star Trek Cross over (featuring both Kirk and Picard.)
There is no feasible way for me to continue with this charade. My undying hatred for all the reruns I have been subjected to make composing this fairy-tale impossible. I will not be finishing this story, not unless the almighty Himself commands me to do so. Until I read “Thou shall provide the LORD thy GOD with a humorous chronicle of Saved by the Bell foolishness” on a stone tablet, I am out for the count - TKO.
You see, every morning when I wake up, my little brothers are absorbed by this show’s magic vial of monkey business. Soon after, I arrive at work, where I find our own janitorial staff watching the lounge television during their break. Their eyes are ensnared by the very same wickedness. Allow me to emphasis again: this occurrence is daily. At night, [Adult Swim] on Cartoon Network - CARTOON Network mind you- has recently plastered its showcase with sickening variations of this same terrifying world.
I can no longer take the wacky adventures of Zack, Slater, Screech, Lisa, Jesse, Kelly, Max, Ox, Ms. Simpson, Mr. Belding, or, of course, Tori. May I no longer endure these glorified jokers, bloated with the humor of no less than three-thousand fallen angels? Seraphs that scream hideously as their radiance burns away into embers and ash, they descend into the ceaseless and everlasting dark. It is in this perverse underground that they will reside as banshees, tormenting me with each episode of this accursed show.
No more can I watch this machine, this vile black torment, this war waged upon us with bladed teeth. Please divulge the secret to ending this bone grinding device that gathers itself up from upon the bottom of black ocean, under a crimson-orange sky. Like a morbid hoax, our senses are to be devastated by this beastly atrocity as it drags behind it the entrails of the late 80’s. Show me where the illumination lights a path to a world once again without ‘Saved by the Bell.’
Saved by the BellOppression 101
I’ve started going through the book 1984 once again. This is a thought provoking read about a future in which Big Brother is the pinnacle of power. George Orwell does an impressive job of portraying this authoritarianism. However, there is one piece of text with which I must take grievance.
…The meagerness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the Party.
Often when we envision this sort of Orwellian society, there is a sense that most persons would be outfitted in this sort of drab blue uniform. I, however, believe differently. The uniform of this sort of party would in fact be a drab blue poncho.
Unbeknownst to most, the poncho would be the first tool of an oppressive regime. This is in fact due to its one-size-fits-all nature. The task of distinguishing one person from another is greatly complicated by the fact that the build of a person is hidden from sight. However, if this is the course of current day America, most people in this future country would be obese anyway.
“But how,” you mutter as the few in charge plan their brutal supremacy. “The poncho is so innocent and comfortable.” You wouldn’t be mistaken in defending this appealing coziness, or in associating it with sleepy Mexicans. As a matter of fact, the poncho has many good things going for it; roughish good looks, years of expertise in its field, and deadly spikes.
How could they win us, the many, over? That’s quite simple –use Jennifer Aniston: America’s sweetheart. Or even Naomi Campbell: America’s most violent model.
And what of manufacturing? Someone would have to take up this task; Someone would have to lead the charge. The ideal candidate is, of course, Martha Stewart. Bow before her in fear.
George Orwell could never have seen this coming.
Oppression 101© Copyright 2005-2007 Arion Londraville, Arison Londraville, David Bova, Josh Allen, Brett Ramus.