The News

I don't claim to know what live-blogging is, or even if it has a hyphen, but I think I may be doing it now. As of 6:20 PST, I am eating a delicious turkey sammich.

Advert Warfare

One of my nightly routines of late is watching The Daily Show on these, the intarwebz. I love being able to watch it whenever I feel like it and for the most part avoid advertisements. There are short mini commercials sprinkled about the show like evil confetti but it's still a hundredth the volume of normal television. The only problem is that for a week or month or something it's the same ad every god damned time. I've seen this Black Berry advert like five hundred times. I know the ad isn't working because it doesn't entice me to buy the product, but it is working in the war of attrition the company is waging with me. I want to buy a Black Berry just so maybe, maybe the commercial will go away. I can't take it anymore. It's the repetition you know, it breaks down your will, it makes you submit.....it breaks everyone in the end........

Love Letter To The Mac-10

I don't really update this blog anymore, but damn it, I needed to say this! And please note, I'm only talking about the incarnation of the weapon featured in Counter Strike: Source.

The Mac-10 is the worst piece of shit that has ever been produced by mankind. It's so shitty that if there were a machine made of shit, into which you fed babies and from which was produced more shit, it would still be better than the Mac-10. At least the Baby-To-Shit-Shitmachine does what it's fucking supposed to do, turn babies into shit. Fuck the Mac-10, fuck anyone who says it doesn't suck balls, and fuck the guy who programmed the shittiness right into the game for us. FUCK.



Now that I've done that, I'll go play some more CS:S.

A Voyage Begins

I kept a travelogue and took a ridiculous amount of photographs when I went to Santa Cruz. I had planned on simply typing up the travelogue and linking in lots of pictures. I just could not seem to do it. I have opted for a somewhat more interesting and definitely more shoddy method of disseminating my travel writings. It's a slight revision of what's scribbled in my notebook but is nearly the same. Further entries will include the music I was listening to when I wrote them.

Here's to summer fun, cheers!


P.S. I live in Northern California, it was kind of engulfed in flames. My house was not literally burnt. I do not mean any disrespect to anyone who has suffered a loss due to these fires. The worst I've gotten is a black lung-esque cough from breathing all this shit.

The Shallow Shark Might Make A Mark

This may be an artistic travesty but I think it's an important piece. It is my personal opinion that not enough people read classic literature. It's also my opinion that when they do far too many feel obligated to think it's good. We don't want to admit we hated something that wordy types have been shrieking the praises of for centuries or more. It's okay to dislike old books, it really is. Just because a piece of literature has achieved a legendary status as a social commentary or psychological masterpiece does not mean it is going to enjoyable. I want everyone to go out and read one book regarded as classic or indispensable and be totally honest about how you felt about it. Start a dialogue, even if it's about why the book sucked. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Santa Cruz News

Greetings from Beautiful Santa Cruz folks and gentle ladies. Here for a good friend's orientation to the University we're making the most of it. I'm on her laptop at the moment in a hotel on Ocean Street. Lovely, absolutely lovely. I have to go now I have more pizza to eat, more poetry to write on the veranda and more Smash Brothers Brawl to play, so try not to miss me too much and don't be jealous bitches!






Travelogue and pictures out the ass on fri.....I mean on whenever I do it-day.

The Wages Of Sin

I have been very lax in my responsibilities of late, reprehensible, I know, but true. The tumult of my life has been soothed and I may now return to a schedule of posting.

I have been playing Super Smash Brothers Brawl a ton, I mean, a ton. Fellow gamers may understand how much gaming it takes to make me think it's a lot. I have slowly begun to realize the incremental poisoning of my mind. It finally became apparent about a week ago. I played through classic mode as Wolf. After the credits rolled a congratulations screen was displayed, nothing out of the ordinary there. On this particular screen the evil I was being subjected to was painfully obvious. Here we see the characters obviously engaged in a sexy game. "Oh no," Peach says in mock terror," It's the Big Bad Wolves! I hope they don't blow down my house and eat me." She's even dressed in her most alluring red dress and bunny ears. Could this be any more sexy? I think not.

Over the next few days I saw time and time again what this game really was. What was it?
Sexy. Terribly, terribly sexy.

In this game the perversion runs deep, it permeates your mind and turns you into an animal. "That's okay", the game tells you, "we're nice to animals". When the characters can't get their digital sex amicably they turn to force, a truly nauseating sight and one you see constantly. Everything a subversive could want is right here. Not even the children are spared.

Two of the characters are worse than the rest, some of whom appear to be innocent bystanders, Zero Suit Samus and Snake. Their voracious sexual appetites absolutely smut this game up.

If you play enough of this game you won't understand the damage it's doing to your psyche until your hard drive is full of anime porn and furries.

You've been warned..............

Oil On Canvas: A True Story

I have a story to relate. This is a story best served with a little history but I will not be providing it. That history is far too personal. Suffice it to say I have a "guest" in my home. Let me say that I completely fucking hate our "guest". It will be noted that this individual is in my home against my will. That should be enough setup.

This evening, late afternoon really, I became so distraught via my loathsome boarder that I slipped on my shoes and walked straight out my front door and into the street. I live in a sleepy, elderly, residential neighborhood and knew that a stroll would be calming. In the very least it would be a reprieve from my tormentor. As I marched up the street, which, coincidentally, is also up a rather steep hill, I was not really soothed.

Passing quaint, cozy house after quaint, cozy house I still fumed. As I passed the peaceful denizens of some I began to wonder if they could sense my anger. Could they see it in my movements? Could they feel it hanging in the torrid air around me? With these thoughts still on my mind I was nearing the next driveway when I nearly jumped. I had come very close to a young woman blending into the bright summer scenery and not even noticed. She stood a the edge of the street, straight and still, an eager expectation betrayed by her pose. She wore a pink sun dress and white heels. As I drew closer she turned, a little surprised herself, and said hello. She was pale but looked kind, her head wreathed in boisterous copper. She had a white motorcycle helmet clutched keenly in her hands. As I nodded and returned the greeting my anger evaporated.

A little further down the road I realized that I felt entirely calm. I reflected on the beautifully different character I had just beheld. It crossed my mind that I should return to thank her but I thought better of it. she had been a wonderful picture and would be best unaltered. I began to wonder just for whom she waited. I kept my eyes forward as I waited, would he appear? A moment later I heard it, a small engine. Speeding down the road toward me was a woman on a white scooter, wearing a colorful camisole and a silk scarf flying from her neck like a pennant. As she disappeared around the slowly curving road I laughed. It amused me to no end to see so obviously who it was that would meet the girl in the sundress. I thought it must be a relatively frequent event to necessitate her possession of a helmet.

As I drew up to my house again I felt collected, tranquil. I had a contentment in my soul after that glance into another life. I had been privy to a single point in space time, one to which no one else had borne visual witness. It seemed the dimmest telescope view of a distant star.

Episode 5: The Office

This comic premiered before The Office hit us here so just get any notion of plagiarism out of your horrible conniving head. The second and last comic inadvertently drawn on ruinous lined paper and the first to feature a different cover page this was a somewhat lengthy and dense volume. It had a (poorly) hidden message announcing a second issue of another comic of mine. This message can and should be ignored. I'm also just posting links because I still can't format the son-of-a-bitchin' things right.

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Episode 4: Attacked By Ninjas

Here's the forth episode of Halibert. I had started drawing Halibert on the go at this point and was using a college ruled notebook. This was a huge mistake for a few reasons. The most obvious reason was the black lines across the pages when xeroxed. The second problem was holes at the side of the notebook which I managed to cover up completely with masking tape. In a color scan, however, the tape is hilariously obvious. So please, forgive the episode its flaws and accept it like the bastard child it really is.

If anyone can tell me how to put these pictures on here the way I have been but sized to fit the post width I would be eternally grateful to them, and probably perform sexual favors for them. Just saying.

Episode 3: Sandwhich Of Fate Conclusion

Through a strange anomaly of google reader one may view a post which I authored and then deleted. It is not present on this blog but is present in the google reader feed for this blog. That post was Halibert: Stick Figure Of The Thinking Man Episode 2. If you haven't seen it:
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Now for the thrilling conclusion to Halibert's sandwhich themed odyssey:
EDIT: I apologize in advance for sloppy formatting.

Big Trouble In Little Blogtown

I've been trying to obtain a kazoo for a while now. Not really hard or anything, just keeping an eye out. I was at a music store and finally found one yesterday. It works really well and I'm currently annoying anyone within a block.

I'm having some technical difficulties and am currently hard at work on a novel. For these reasons I may have an extremely spotty update schedule. Since I know there are literally dozens of people who have read this blog I am offering up an alternative for trying to find some humor. You can watch full episodes of The Daily Show. So have fun with that and I'll try to get my ducks in a row and start producing mildly amusing material as soon as possible!

Download Day Is Go!

Today is Download Day. Firefox is trying to set a Guinness World Record for most software downloads in one day. The software? The new Firefox 3! If you love Firefox, Guinness, records or downloading stuff go get it buddy!

Metal Gear Soiled

I google'd "Metal Gear Soiled" to make sure I wasn't being too trite and repetitious. Turns out people just accidentally type solid wrong, a lot. I could see soild or sloid, which are just a matter of sloppy typing, like teh. Soiled requires you to switch the i to the wrong side of the l and throw an extra letter in there.

A couple of days ago I went over to a friend's house for a big Smash Brothers Brawl fest. I got back late last night. In the intervening period I played an obscene amount of the game. We got all the unlockable characters and stages and a large portion of other unlockable content besides. One character is of particular interest to me. Last year we found out, whilst impatiently awaiting the next Smash Bros. installment, that it would, much to our consternation, include Solid Snake from the Metal Gear series. I personally dislike Metal Gear and thought that it was a woefully irrational decision to include him. I have been persuaded to believe differently since then.

I'll start by saying that I think Solid Snake is a proper Bad Ass (capitalization denotes official status as opposed to an amateur bad ass). He always seemed like a steady spec ops type character. A killer, resourceful, merciless, a tool of nations. It's not very original but it's cool. Konami has made a ton of cash off this stale characterization. I didn't feel that he belonged in a game where goofy characters like Donkey Kong and Pikachu ran around fighting. Luckily they've proved me wrong. While retaining an air of badassery Snake comes off as sort of comical in Brawl. I suppose it's mainly the inclusion of his cardboard box.

I was really hoping that they'd at least let him break Yoshi's neck, alas it was not meant to be. He does, however, kick some serious ass when he's not blowing up shit with rockets, grenades, mines, RPG-7s, or mortars. This guy is packing some real ordnance. I have come to accept him as a Smash Bros. character, one that I really wish I could manage. It turns out he's too hard for a simpleton like me to control. It seems like a great deal of people can't use him to good effect either. You see, when connected to the Nintendo Wi-fi you can choose to spectate instead of playing. You get connected to a random game to watch. Before it begins you are allowed to wager the coins you have collected within the game. You place a bet of any amount 100 coins or less on whichever player, or team if it's a team battle, you think will win. If you're right you win coins and occasionally a "Bonus Chance' which can be in-game items like stickers or trophies or just double or triple winnings. It's actually more fun than online play if you ask me. The Wi-fi games are heinously laggy and just less fun than playing with a bunch of friends. This brings me back to Snake, don't bet on him. Most people will let you down while playing with Snake. Although one time I bet 100 coins on him and won back 380, that was sweet, otherwise he just lost my money.

My only foray into Metal Gear Solid was a coworker loaning me Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater. Looks cool right? I struggled through a few hours of frustrating and confusing controls, cheesy anime-esque cut scenes and rigid, spastic combat before I gave up. I couldn't see the point. My natural inclination is not to sneak past a guy. My natural inclination is to run out there and fuck his shit up. Mario never tip-toes past a goomba! Did you ever try to elude a koopa? I guess the real progenitor of the stealth genre was Pac-Man. You had to sneak through the levels and avoid the guards at all cost. Then when you powered up and the time was right you would strike. I never really liked Pac-Man, I was too young. My first games were all NES titles. By then it wasn't "DO NOT TOUCH THE ENEMIES", it had become "STOMP OR SHOOT THE ENEMIES". Hideo Kojima must love Pac-Man. At one point in Snake Eater my character (whom I believed was Solid Snake) fell off a bridge into a raging river. He washed up on shore and the medical expert with whom he had radio contact talked him through the process of patching himself up. He had to apply some bandages and set some bones. It seemed cool, it's like when Bruce Willis had to pull all the glass out of his feet in Die Hard. It takes a pretty bad dude to pop his shattered bones back into place and then wrap 'em. The thing about it is that instead of a cool cutscene you have to actually perform these tasks. You listen to the rambling instruction, select the medical maneuver or item, select the part of your body to apply it to, repeatedly. In the end you're just playing with a child's toy shaped like a wounded special agent. What's the point? I couldn't just watch him follow medical advice and patch himself up? It couldn't be one of the seventy-billion cutscenes in the Metal Gear series?

Snake is so cool in Smash Bros. it makes me want to play Metal gear. If they'd made Roy or Marth that cool I would own all the Fire Emblem games. I did some reading last night and found out that Metal Gear Solid 4 had very coincidentally been released. I also found out that in Snake Eater I wasn't Solid Snake and it was a prequel. As if the plot wasn't already confusing enough I got started on a prequel. This was not the best way to start me on the series. Since I know that now I've decided to give the series another chance. One chance Hideo, you hear me dammit?!

This Is A Cop Out

I'm thinking about putting this on a shirt, I think it would be rad. Of course you're not going to agree unless you know who this is, but I'm not the kind to tell you.

In other news, there is no news! I've been writing rather prolifically lately and have been eschewing video games. I'm pleased with the results but I think I'm going through withdrawal or something. I've got headaches, my hands shake and sometimes I think I see Mario out of the corner of my eyes. It's okay though, I just drink enough vodka and it all works out!

Charlie And The Chocolate Factory

I decided I needed to summarize my feelings for the new (okay, not that new) Tim Burton remake. I really can't draw however, so my comics are pretty bare bones. I hope it gets the point across.

An act of Comiczdry! That's a portmaneau of comic and wizardry.

Halibert: Stick Figure Of The Thinking Man

I want to relate a brief story, it's going to begin with the words "in high school" and I'm begging you not to hate me for it.

In high school I drank coffee and ate microwave burritos for lunch every day. I made the money to do so not by getting a job, that's not my shtick. I wrote and sold comics. I had a series called Halibert: Stick Figure Of The Thinking Man. It opened to mixed reviews. It payed the bills though, so I kept making them. It's not really all that good, the humor is mainly visual and even then it's only really funny if you dig stick figures. I sort of employ every cliche I can because I find it amusing. You're free to interpret it however you want.

I realized that I still wanted to write the comics and the old ones were just sitting around gathering dust. Well, here they are in all their shitty, poorly planned out, coffee stained glory! This is the inauspicious first episode. I'll post the rest forthwith.

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I'm trying to finish a "digitally remastered" first episode. You'll see it soon.

NT2MMAL!

I want to call your attention to something I discovered last night, "ROLL TAPE!"

Ya Ha Deedle Deedle, Bubba Bubba Deedle Deedle Dum

If I were rich I would dress like Mark Twain, smoke cigars, drink cognac, and communicate exclusively through telegram. I dare you to impeach my brilliant understanding of the bourgeoisie.

But I'm not rich, I dress like a somewhat more refined and classy video game nerd, don't smoke at all, drink whatever comes my way and use telephone and email. I can dream though.

Today I went on a small road trip. Just sixty-some miles to Sacramento, California state capital. Three friends and I were making a pilgrimage to Guitar Center so one friend could investigate their wares. He got a check from his Grandma because his step-grandfather-whom-he-never-met died. He's gonna blow it on either a new PA or an acoustic drum set (he's got electric). While I was there I saw a hilarious notice by the drum machines and a giant stuffed Animal on the ceiling.

The trip's main source of entertainment was a small sign we were lucky enough to possess. Reactions varied amongst viewers but generally involved a honk. People of all creeds, colors, ages and genders honked in response. One vehicle we passed honked vigorously, then as they passed us several moments later we realized they had a message for us. It was obvious they knew we were just four men.

You make new friends everywhere.

Psychotropic Wonder Game

My sister told me once that music is the only dependable high. I think I finally understand. I've been playing a "game" called Audiosurf. I have game in quotes because it's less a game and more a powerful hallucinogen. It basically combines all your favorite songs with LSD, and I mean that in the best way possible. Here, let me show you.

You can open any sound file on your computer and the game will turn it into a physical course. It involves a lot of flying colors and trippy effects for no reason other than to induce seizures. In fact there's the single largest seizure warning on any game I've ever seen every time you start it up. As soon as you try it you'll be hooked. I like to play techno songs and wear these glasses. It's not just for the aesthetic, I think dimming the colors helps me focus. Now all I need is some coke and I'll be all set.

Title Which Is Of A Necessity Less Entertaining Than This Game's Title

I meant to write a post for Friday, I really did. I had it open and going this afternoon.
Then this
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happened

First of all I love online distribution. I'm loathe to buy a video game at all if it can't be downloaded these days. The kind of instant gratification this offers is on par with a working replicator. I used to go to the store to get video games. The wait, that is to say the car ride home, was unbearable. Later I found out that the internet had a better selection and better prices. Waiting for games in the mail was horrible. I usually had to wait forever and a day and save up to buy it in the first place so the additional week or two was hell. I'll try to make myself sound less petty now. I'm an incredibly impatient person. It's a character flaw and I have to work at it really hard. So just, shut up. Sorry, back to my point. Finally I had steam and access to plastique. I buy the game, download the game, play the game, in that order and in less than an hour. When I bought the Orange Box I had all the games downloaded in about forty-five minutes. It was an intoxicating new sensation. Luckily for me, and a lot of other people really, tons of developers are hopping on the steam band wagon. All my favorite PC games are now on steam: Valve's little diamonds, the Civilization franchise, and any number of World War 2 themed games.

Last night I bought the new video game made by none other than the men behind Penny Arcade. It seems to me that if two men who make their entire living by playing and critiquing games actually make a video game it should completely rock your socks off. And honestly, this game did just that.

I do have some gripes but overall I loved the game. If you like RPG's (not the blowey-uppy kind) at all, that is to say if you have a gamer's bone in your body, you'll like this game. Want some proof? Demo, bitches. Go ahead it's not very big. The demo proved to me that the game was not complete fan service as everyone says. I'm not a Penny Arcade fan, I think the guys are a great artist and a great writer, they definitely have my respect. The game is a well thought out RPG with an amusing and strangely riveting story line. The characters may be more fun to someone familiar with the comic but the writing and art is so good that they're fantastic by themselves. I'm absolutely in love with the artwork. I think it's evocative, polished eye candy that just keeps coming. The best part is the mix of 2-D and 3-D artwork. You get to create a custom character that the game renders well in three dimensions but superbly in two. It's a thrill to see your character's expressions and reactions throughout the game. While the game has lots of inside jokes to delight the fans it's also funny in its own right. I expected to be slightly amused throughout this game, I was very amused very consistently. The number of times I laughed out loud, and quite heartily at that, chocks up big points for the game in my book. It was sincerely funny. The plot does not revolve around anything from the comic and the ubiquitous robots are the most truly in joke. Otherwise almost all of it, including about 90% of the enemies and 100% of the NPC's are unique to the game. The weapons, attacks, items; all new. The excellent quest and plot development and rich environment detail keep you from ever noticing that you're essentially running around in circles, re-hashing the same small set of maps. It turns the size of the game world into a strength instead of a weakness.

My gripes mainly revolve around the options. I wanted more, especially mouse sensitivity. I set mine to the max on every game I play and I personally found the RSPD mouse sluggish. I wanted a "reset" button on the character creation page so that I could get a clean palette when my new character was simply FUBAR. There were a couple mini games that were maddeningly difficult due primarily to poor design. The almost added to the enjoyment in a way though, hearkening back to classic games with awful mini games. Maybe it's just me.

The game was so engrossing that I played through the entire length with the hungry enjoyment with which I've played countless games before. Games made by the world's largest developers. It lasted longer than some of those too. I finished Half-life 2's Episodes One and Two in less time each. I played through portal in less than half the time. The fact that I could play The Rain Slick Precipice Of Darkness for pretty much ever more does leave me wanting though.

In the end it really is worth the twenty bucks, something I didn't believe before the demo opened my eyes. This is really my first review of a video game and I'd love some feedback. Drop a comment to tell me your thoughts about the review or the game!

And The Legos Shall Inherit The Earth

I'm glad I never got Mindstorms when I was a kid. My creations would have been so technically, intellectually and imaginatively stunted and pathetic compared to this that upon seeing it I would have killed myself out of inadequacy. The only thing that could make this better is if it weren't so mind numbingly slow. Wait, scratch that, I thought of something else that could make it better. If it were a bigger factory that built little lego car factories. So that you could just turn it on and in a day or two you'd have one of these factories just like in the video! Now that would be cool.

As an aside I found the video by googling 'car factory factory'.

Calling In

This is dudekazoo, I'm calling because I won't be saying much of anything tonight, I'm sick. Now you know why people don't like to hire me, I get sick a lot and subsequently miss work a lot.
I've been spending obscene amounts of time at this website, cracked.com, it's hilarious. It's also updated every day and has a huge back log of funny crap to read. Laughter is the best medicine after all, so maybe I'll be back on my feet by friday. I leave you with this picture of Kojak, for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Goodnight!

A Poignant Tale, One Minute Long.

Here's a strange and lovely tale. A child is born to a couple who live inside a magical car factory. All her life she watches as robots assist and eventually replace her parents. By maturity she is seen on her way not by her flesh and blood mother or father but by her mechanical mother. Her parents can only stand in the shadows and lament this unforeseeable turn of events. The home they believed would benefit their daughter has in fact shown her more than they ever could. They spend their remaining days in sorrowful acceptance, doted upon by their robotic superior who cannot conceive of the treachery it has committed with its unwavering service.

The Pirates Of The Digital Rightsibbean!

I want to state, before all else, that Piracy is, always has been and always will be really cool. I was just playing Rummy with my Pirate Playing Cards, I have Pirates Of The Caribbean decorations all over the room, I have swords, books and movies. From Where I'm sitting I can see my Black Beard DVD some fake doubloons and some pirate related trinkets. I'm a big fan. I even have pirate charms and memorabilia in my wallet. I know the difference between movie pirates and real pirates and fashion myself the latter. I am grateful to the recent films for one thing, they got little kids reading about pirates again. They used to be one of the number one imaginary games of all children, along with other stereotypes like Indians, Cowboys, and soldiers from any and all wars. I think pirates had taken a back seat to things like G.I. Joes and transformers for a while. Now they're back in their rightful place as kick-awesome childhood (and grown-up) fantasy.

There are still real pirates around the world, Africa is notorious, the coast of Somalia is probably the most dangerous strip of sea in the world. Just since 2006 millions have been paid in ransom to pirates who hijack ships and kidnap crews. They're making money to supply weapons to warlords on the shore and it's working. So, it would seem, pirates have not only had a revival in fiction but have jumped right off the page. Needless to say my inner child thinks this is sweet as candy. I of course do not condone real murder, theft or other international crimes on the high seas, but I can't help it if it spins one hell of a yarn.

The other area where pirates have taken the world by storm is the internet. This is where I'm truly a pirate. I'm pirating as I write this. I'm a self-righteous pirate as well. That's what I really want to talk about here. All the money piracy has made for a bunch of companies and all the money piracy has saved (not earned) for me.

Let's start at the beginning. By which I mean my money. I don't have any, never have. How can I buy something with no money? I can't. Simple right?
If I can not buy a CD, then how much money is the company making?
No money, correct.
If I download the CD how much money is the company making?
No money, again, correct.
Net gain? Zero.
If I download the CD and find that I really enjoy it and subsequently purchase all three of the CDs from the artist, how much money did the company make?
Thirty, forty bucks, something like that right?
Net gain, thirty to forty dollars. The company is now happy.

This is not stealing. Going into tower records and slipping a CD under your shirt is stealing. The store loses money. It's that simple. Someone once told me that illegally copying music was a slippery slope. I do not agree. Those little videos they show you as much as they can explicitly state that downloading shit is identical, morally, to literally stealing physical items, car jacking or looting. This is bull for so many reasons. My above example with the CD is hypothetical. You might consider it bologna because it seems contrived. Here is a rundown of all the money I have directly deposited into the pockets of Corporate America (and sometimes Japan) because I pirates something.

It starts with Civilization 3. I got a pirated copy and didn't even know what the game was like, I had played Civilization on the Super Nintendo. I became addicted. I loved it and still do. Eventually I bought the full game because some aspects were screwy in my version.
Civilization 3: $30
I loved it so much that I ended up buying these too.
Civilization 3: Conquests: $30
Civilization 3: Complete: $30
Civilization 4: $50
Civilization 4: Warlords: $20
Civilization 4: Beyond The Sword: $20
That's $180 just because I pirated a single archive one time several years ago! They can't pay for marketing that good. It was sort of a super detailed demo of the game.
My original copy of Half-life was Pirated. My buddy burnt me a disc when he got it. Here are the purchases I have made due to that fateful act of piracy.
Half-life Opposing Force and Blue Shift: $30
Half-life 2 and Episode One: $30
Garry's Mod: $10
Day Of Defeat: Source : $10
The Orange Box: $50
I got lucky in that I didn't have to pay for Day Of Defeat, Counter Strike, Team Fortress Classic or Deathmatch Classic. And no, it's not because I stole them, they used to be free if you had a retail version of Half-life and Steam.
Grand Total: $130! Now that I think about it those games were way more reasonably priced than the Civ Franchise.
I've bought movies and Cds totaling around a hundred dollars because I saw or heard them on my PC first. See, I don't like movies much. I DO NOT go to the theater. The movie producers have two choice: 1) I never see the film and they don't turn a profit 2) I pirate the film and maybe they turn a profit. At the very least I might gain a liking for a film maker or actor and purchase films later on. I bought Batman Begins after downloading it. Now I love Christian Bale and am more inclined to view/buy his movies. Trust me movie companies, you want me to be downloading these things.

Then there's console emulation, probably the most innocent sort of piracy. I've been doing this since I was ten. There wasn't a chance in hell I was getting a Game Boy or Pokemon, not under the poverty line. I had no choice. I "stole" Pokemon over the internet. This eventually led to hundreds of dollars in purchases. Game Boy Color, Pokemon Gold, Game Boy Advance, Game Boy Advance SP, Pokemon Sapphire, Nintendo DS. Not to mention any other hand held games I ever purchases. It's all because I found out, first hand, how much ass Pokemon kicked when I was little. Some games are so hard to find you have to emulate them just to play them, Uncharted Waters 2 is a good example. Fantastic game, and, when I have some cash, I hope to actually buy it. Emulators are never quite the same as the real thing and Nintendo realized how to turn that into cash. They invented the "Virtual Console" for the Wii. It's basically a really nice emulator that isn't free but has a nostalgia inducing controller and lets you play Super Metroid on your TV again. In the end it's totally worth the small fees for the old school games and it's way better than a keyboard and a computer monitor.

I haven't exhausted all of the ways piracy has benefited the companies I'm supposedly ripping off yet but I'm sure I've exhausted you so I will desist. I hope this has enlightened you as to the truth about piracy. If you're viciously anti-piracy then I hope this pissed you off and I can duel you with pistols or sabres, your choice, someday. I mean come on people, I'm not gonna buy a Baby Boy Da' Prince Album just so I can listen to one damned song!

Adieu!

Fear And Loathing In San Francisco: Epilogue

Forget what I said about recounting my time in San Francisco. I realized I was incapable of telling funny anecdotes about the city. They all just ended up as hateful ranting. It was just a really shitty day in a place I already disliked. A forceful affirmation of my old prejudices and possibly incorrect notions. I spent a whole day, sans argent, trying to find stuff to occupy myself with, or at least some place to sleep.

Here is the real reason my visit to the city sucked as bad as it did: The Bay To Breakers. This "race", it can be said, is a time for people to express themselves. A time to interact and connect with their fellow man. A time without prejudice or social stigma. In reality it is a chance to act as bat shit insane as you want, wear anything or nothing, break seemingly all city ordnances without consequence and get as drunk as possible in the streets. Alright, that's fine, I'm not going to judge, and neither should you. I just want you to watch that video and then imagine, to the best of your ability, driving in that. Not. Possible. We didn't mean to arrive in the city on that fateful day. We had no clue what had gotten into the water in San Francisco until we asked a pedestrian what the hell was going on.

I saw all the landmarks for which the city is famous (according to wikipedia): The Golden Gate Bridge, Cable Cars, Coit Tower, China town and Alcatraz, albeit from across the bay. It costs twelve bucks just to park for the Alcatraz tours. How much are the tours themselves? I shudder to think. The ubiquitous cable cars are something you will see frequently. They are packed with people and look pretty miserable. Even if they move through traffic with the impunity of Egyptian pharaohs. I saw China Town by accident. Road maps are next to useless when the Bay To Breakers have seemingly random roads blocked off. It's kind of like Super Mario Brothers, at every possible opportunity a bunch of drunks dressed like (well actually, some of them were dressed like mario) pirates and vikings tells you, "Your turn is in another neighborhood, you lost-ass tourist!"

Coit Tower was, much to my chagrin, just a tower. Although I thought it bore a striking resemblance to The Tower Of Hera from A Link To The Past which made it a little cooler. Instead of those caterpillar enemies there were just a ton of old asian men and women doing Tai Chi and/or walking their dogs. I saw the Golden gate from below where I was visiting an awesome locale, Fort Point. I really enjoyed Fort Point but it wasn't very big and I only spent a half-hour or so inside. I also drove through The Presidio, saw Fort Mason, Fort Funston, which I can only imagine looks like this, come to think of it, I saw more Forts than anything else. San Francisco is lousy with Forts.

I saw The Castro, the famously gay neighborhood. It was as gay, if not gayer than everyone thinks. I thought it was great that homosexual people had this small corner of the world where they were accepted without question. They were comfortable, open. It seemed like nirvana if you were a gay man. There was a huge rainbow flag flying above the district and a gym called "Take It Off, Get Ripped". All in all San Francisco seems to specialize in being accepting and accommodating to any and all minorities. This is, in my opinion, the only good thing about the city. So, there you go San Fran, I gave you props on something.

I don't think I'll ever go back to The Castro, as a heterosexual male I have zero need for giant sausage fest like that, I saw like four women. They were in pairs.

If I were rich or lived in the city (i.e. was rich) I might love the place. As it is I just think of it as an expensive, maze-like mass of pretentious nonsense, and I'm a liberal! I think it goes to show that San Francisco is so incredibly left that it takes a special kind to appreciate it. I guess after all we've been through San Francisco, we'll just have to agree to disagree and go our separate ways.

Here's to you San Fran, keep up the freaky, just, don't bother me anymore.

Fear And Loathing In San Francisco: Prologue

There it is. San Francisco. You can look upon the entire breadth of it from Treasure Island. As I was doing so I was muttering "Stupid San Francisco, I hate stupid San Francisco. Why do I have to go back into stupid San Francisco". You see, I hate that city. I really do. On so many levels, for so many reasons. People who have never been there may not understand. People who live there might want to kick my ass out of civic pride. I don't care.

I've always hated San Francisco, ever since my first trip there. I was very young and I didn't go back for many years. I could recall little, only crowds, bums, crazies, cars, litter. I remembered too much of everything and the claustrophobic effect of endless buildings. I've grown up now and am no longer afraid of big cities, that is something a small child from the country is prone to, and now I just hate them.

Over the next few days I will recount my adventures in the city, with as little animosity as possible. I went to San Francisco as a fringe party of a road trip. My sister was going to a concert and I didn't want to pass up a free trip to the city. I was going to take pictures and write. Well, I took pictures. Writing was difficult, I find I am not very inspired while feeling enraged. Usually this was road rage, but not always.

dudekazoo: Journalistic Credibility Almost As Low As Fox News

The Great War. The War to End All Wars. The First World War has many names and a unified reputation for horror and brutality. It's generally true that people don't really know all that much about the war, if you ask them they will recall only the most dim fragments of high school history class. Trenches, gas-masks, muddy craters, and sometimes The Red Baron. What most people do not realize, however, is that the war never really ended. No, I don't mean because it directly spawned the Second World War. I mean the men of that great crusade never stopped dying. To this day combatants from around the world perish and not one person bats an eye. The death toll is staggering, of the more than sixty million men mobilized during the war only a handful remain. If laid head to foot the dead could circle the earth's equator two and a half times. Absolutely staggering. It won't be long, now, before the death finally ends. Soon enough one of these century long rivals will triumph. In a stunning act of betrayal John F. Babcock, after having served his country for sixty-two years, became a Canadian citizen, seriously damaging the U.S. war effort and putting Canada ahead in the bid for supremacy. It shouldn't have been unexpected, however, Babcock was originally a Canadian citizen and only defected in the forties.

In the years to come we will see the end of the war. Now let us all beseech the blessing of almighty God on this great and exhaustive undertaking.



About the author:
J. Braandon, known usually as dudekazoo, is a cynical and irredeemable youth who is bent on finding his way to Hell through either the abuse of kittens and children or the ridicule of dying old war heroes.

The Desert

As night was settling on the desert a man was brought back to camp. He was wounded and in desperate need of medical intervention. They stretched him out on a simple cot and laid him on the sand inside an unoccupied tent. When they had all rushed back out the man was left all alone with only the dark folds of the tent and the swaying flaps of it's door.

Dazed from the pain he waited, trying confusedly to arrange the jumbled events of the day and give them order and context. He struggled to array them in such a way as to deduce how he had arrived at this juncture. All the while the fractured images kept slipping and fading. He began to despair of ever recalling what had truly happened.

As the darkness solidified the moon came out, quite full, and shone through the tents flaps and glowed all around. Periodically the man heard voices, or clattering pots, or the sound of horses, and always the murmur of the tent itself. He couldn't tell if he had been conscious consistently or if he had dozed. It seemed he must have, but he could not be sure. Time was stretching and becoming doggedly difficult to track. His body felt extraordinarily heavy, as well as his breathe. His lungs had to push very hard to lift his chest. He couldn't understand what he was awaiting. He couldn't recall where everyone had gone or when. The breeze wafting into the tent began to chill him uncomfortably and he shivered.

As he stared vacantly at the ceiling he heard the soft sound of footsteps outside. The entry was lifted open and he felt relieved that someone had come at last. To his surprise a young woman stepped inside. She had dark skin like the good earth. Her eyes were black and shone like a cat's in the moonlight. Her raven hair was tied delicately in red ribbon, lifting it away from her soft face. On her body she wore a billowing white gown, blue under the moon. On her feet she wore nothing. With a caring and tender smile tracing her full lips she elegantly whispered over the sand to him. She slowly bent down. kneeling beside him she brought her lips to his in a gossamer kiss. He closed his eyes blissfully and was able to breathe deep and clear for the first time in what seemed like days. When he opened his eyes again she was standing, leaning over slightly and offering him her hand with the same small smile, although he now thought it seemed the tiniest bit sad. Realizing how much lighter and more vital he felt he reached up and put his hand in hers. It seemed to him that she pulled him up more than he stood of his own strength. She inclined her head toward the door as she began to slowly move. He sighed happily and followed. As the moon shone the two of them stepped out of the tent.

As soon as the surgeon arrived he told the men to wait outside. He went in and all was silent for a long moment. At last he reemerged with a sad look on his face.
"I'm afraid he has passed. He never really had a chance. But look inside for yourselves, he has a smile on his lips. It looks like the happiest man among us is the one who has at last been freed by death."

The men peered into the tent and found that he did in fact have a smile of real joy gracing his face. It was so sad yet beautiful that they all felt at peace just to see it.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day mom. I want to thank you for bringing me into this world, bringing me up in this world, and helping me be someone I want to be. This picture is the sum of your accomplishments that make this day so special. Here are all the adoring faces, all the grateful souls, all the hard work you've put in.
Thank you for being my mom.

A Little Something For You

I had the opportunity to participate in something called a "Power Hour' earlier. It was a game in Day of Defeat: Source. Essentially we run around and cause chaos whilst listening to music. Every minute the song changes and we drink. Needless to say this was hilarious. A great time. I was somewhat disappointed when I ran out of rum.
Here's a great insight into an old story
Here's the shirt
Here's a 'game' you need to investigate
Here's another 'game'
They're really interactive stories. But I'm still trying to beat them. I know there's got to be a way to win.
Here's a comic that I thought was utterly brilliant. If you dig the Middle Ages or video games, check it the hell out.
There, i know it was really just a link dump but it was still a post, and on Friday too. I kept the schedule for once. Now I'm out of here.

A Thinly Veiled Excuse For A Post

I can tell you this one thing: I would always keep to the pointless and uninspired schedule I laid down if I weren't constantly assailed by opportunities for fishing, drinking, video games or other forms of awesomeness. Take yesterday for example: I was awakened with the information that one of my friends was in the driveway. I leaped out of bed, grabbed a clean shirt, did a slip shod job of tying back my hair (I'm sort of a long haired jerk) and ran out to the driveway bleary eyed and be-socked.
"You want to go fishing?"
What am I supposed to do, say no?
"Yeah, sure, I'll be right back."
I ran back inside, slammed a tall cup of coffee, used the facilities and put on shoes. Not more than five minutes after waking up I was driving down the road in a pick-up truck ready to do some fishing. It's worth noting that I'm a worthless layabout and it was around five o'clock when this took place. Don't judge me. Or do, but, do it in a comment to this post.
I caught seven fish, only two worth keeping. I began to joke about all the fish that had been within an inch of death and had been spared by the hand of God. "Those fish are going to fish church every Sunday here out, you know that." My compatriots were kind enough to tell me I was a plagiaristic hack and that I had essentially just told a Jeff Foxworthy joke. Damn you Foxworthy! Truly you are a worthy foe. Hehehe, that's kind of funny, except somebody probably already said it, because that's how it works. I had this joke about how nobody ever hears anything about the Pretty Okay Wall Of China. Turns out Demetri Martin already had a joke about the Good Wall Of China. What really burns my ass about that one is that I firmly believe my version is funnier. Oh well, I'll just let bygones be bygones, since I don't have a lawyer and they certainly do. I'm putting in research to ensure that my jokes are original from now on.
I'll try to put a comic up tomorrow, in the mean time why don't you consider leaving a comment?

Magic: The Blathering

Have you ever taken a tinkle and then immediately thereafter had something to drink? Did you think,"What did I really just accomplish here"? Fine, just, forget I asked.

This weekend I found myself at a Magic Card tournament held in a local hobby shop. I'm a veteran of many Magic Tournaments, dating back to middle school, but this one was unique in my experience. Mainly it differed by being the least miserable. Somehow I never really enjoyed myself at card tourneys, excepting the rare occasions that I won of course. Yet every Tuesday evening there I was, nervously shuffling my Magic cards, in the food court of the mall. Truly the fondest memories I have of those tournaments are all the times I had enough money to get Sbarro's pizza. That was really great pizza. Eventually I stopped attending, driven away by the twenty-something losers who had nothing better to do in their moms' basements than spend all of their money on Magic cards in order to smash little kids at the local mall, and the little kids with decks completely funded by their rich but rarely present parents. I was continually improving, improvising, devising, reducing, trimming, slimming and testing my deck. I would spend all week on it, craft it to perfection, and then somehow draw the most inoperable, unlucky series of cards in all my real games at the tournament. This caused humiliating, and truly unjust, defeat.

I still play Magic with my buddies, we sit around and drink beer, smoke, make jokes at one another's expense, and throw down on the field of nerdy, fantasy battle. Last time we played they told me about this tournament, it was going to be a sealed deck style tournament, which piqued my interest. At a sealed deck tourney everyone receives a modicum of random cards. Essentially the entry fee is used to buy these packs of cards, one hundred and five at this shop, so you're not really out anything if you lose. All the players sit around for an hour and build the best forty card decks they can with the limited resources available to them. Once this has been accomplished the players are squared off in one on one matches. Each player competes in three matches and accrues points therein. The main draw of this format, to me, is the emphasis on strategy. I don't have to spend five hundred dollars a month on new cards to win this kind of tournament. It's all about working with what you've got. At the end of the tournament the highest ranked players are awarded new packs of cards and everyone gets a special promo card, which is generally worth a great deal of money before that moment, afterward it is extremely deflated.

To attend one of these tournaments one must be DCI certified. This entails filling out a small application sheet and receiving your DCI card. After you've done this you are officially a card carrying nerd. I got a DCI card last summer when I went to a tournament. Since then I have lost the card and totally stopped caring that I have done so. When I entered the sealed deck this weekend I had to fill out a new card. I impishly decided to put dudekazoo as my name both on the card itself and application. Somewhat concerned that it would be rejected if I used a single name (I'm no Cher or Madonna) I hastily tacked on the first last name I could conjure up. My friend Brandon asked me if I was related to Morgan. When it came time for the owner of the store, doubling as judge, to match players up he called out," Josh! You'll be playing...uh...Mr. Freeman over here." When he paired me up for my second match he called me dudekazoo but couldn't quite pull it off without a hesitancy in his voice. Every time he said it he seemed to gain new confidence though, so by the end when he handed me my prize money (i.e. magic cards) he shortened it familiarly to "dude". Aside from playing under a false identity the tournament was enjoyable for other reasons. The shop didn't reek of adolescent losers with poor self-esteem and poorer personal hygiene. It was a clean, professional store, but not altogether formal. It was casual without the usual squalor. The players were the least objectionable group of Magic aficionados I ever laid eyes on. I didn't hate any of them. None of them made my skin crawl. Usually there are at least a few of those poor excuses for humanity that one imagines must play Vampire: The Eternal Struggle and subsist entirely on Hot Pockets, but not this time. There were a couple guys who were a little too into the game but they didn't earn my animosity because they earnestly loved Magic and weren't being obnoxious pricks. I can't abide jerk offs, but I'm fine with dorks. In the end I took Fifth place, which earned me two booster packs. It may not sound like much but I felt good about it.

So, now you know, I'm a big nerd.

Gaussian Flare

It was a temperate, easy twilight. The sun had disappeared almost entirely beyond the western mountains. Only the most ethereal of hues were now painted on the belly of the sky. The dark ocean blue of the heavens; the thick purple crowned blues that wrapped the broken and myriad canopy of clouds. And, off in the west, warmed with a splash of gold, the delicate blues of light's final bastion.

Beneath this painting the trees all around spoke softly in their evening voices. With hushed but hurried sentences they recounted the day's events. Some were friends, laughing and thrashing the air in their mirth. Some were lovers, caressing each other's boughs and creating an even more passionate melody. Sweet nothings elicited by the cool, casual wind. In their divers and distinct voices they babbled in a ceaseless chorus, filling the world with sound underneath the failing twilight.

The Time Of Your Wife

I've decided to update on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, plus whenever I feel like it. I'm not sure why or whether I'm going to stick with but I'm announcing it nonetheless. I'll write something on the morrow, it being Friday. Until then, why not take a look at this.

Heartstopping Criminality!

Oh, my, God! I hope you're all as excited about GTA4 as I am. I'll be ready to swap tales of my free roaming exploits in about twenty four hours. Until then I will postpone sleeping, eating, and using the bathroom. All I need is my 360, a bucket and a gallon of water. I just opened up my GTA case and am currently basking in the heavenly glow of the disc itself. The best part is that I found the kick-ass freebie they included with the game. Check this badness out!

Alright folks, I'll talk to you Five thousand car jackings later!

It's A Comicstravaganza!

Witness the quest of a man. A man determined to ask the question of the century.

For Whom The Turnpike Tolls

In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss, while a mighty wind swept over the waters.
Then God said,"Let there be this comic", and there was this comic. God saw how good this comic was.

My Latest Creation

Please witness this new feat in comic creation!*

*Severely dead pan humor. I think this kind of thing is funny. Maybe you're not a big fan of the anti-joke. Oh well.

Spare Time And How To Waste It!

I wanted to share with you, my (non-existent) audience, two things which seem to occupy an obscene amount of my time. The first is Day of Defeat: Source. I was heavily into the original Day of Defeat- the words obsession and compulsion have been bandied about by friends and relations- and I'm at home in this graphically updated version. I was just idly shooting Nazis until I discovered a server with which I could fall in love. That server is Fight for Freedom. Without a really good server to call home your time in any online game can easily turn into an endless cycle of bad maps, bad players and bad attitudes. It can take a long time to find a server worth playing at all. I prefer clean servers, that is, servers that do not tolerate foul language and abusive behavior. It may be a little stifling to check one's cursing but I find it to be worthwhile not to listen to ignorance and stupidity stricken adolescents and young adults (or as a man much better than I put it "the usual collection of mic-spamming pubbie retards"). I also believe that anyone unable to follow a clean language rule is generally undesirable to play with for a number of reasons, not the least of them being their habit of using some sort of gay porn spray.......I don't want to talk about it. I like everything about this server, the rules, the players, the admins. It's a great place to play. If you play this game I can't recommend this server highly enough. Just tell 'em dudekazoo sent ya!

Something else that seems to eat up entire nights is Homestar Runner and his Wiki. I keep finding unexpected daybreaks outside my window when I go to the Homestar Wiki. It's not just that I can find out every single thing there is to know about the Homestar Universe it's that I can watch all the cartoons I'm reading about by clicking the link at the bottom of each article. I read about the easter eggs, watch it, hit back and read the rest of the article. Then it's a quick click on any link in the page and I repeat the cycle. For hours. And hours. And no, I'm not proud of this fixation, but I am waiting for the Homestar Runner edition of Trivial Pursuit. Hooboy I will rule that game.

Monkey lovers and Adnanas

I was at the library and came across a magazine with this picture on the cover. I thought the story told itself, a picture is worth a thousand words. Here are the full size and original photo.

Now to turn from such frivolous matters to more grave goings on. I went to the kitchen to procure a delicious, calcium rich snack and found something horrifying. Right there on one of my bananas was an advertisement. Needless to say I was outraged. Bananas are not advertising space they're extremely delectable candies of the earth. Sure, it may just be adnanas now, but tomorrow it could be adples, or adions(add-yunz). Try to sleep with the thought of all your fruits and veggies turning up with stickers and banners and all manner of advertisement. I don't think you'll find it so easy.

A Brand New Very Old Toy

I brought this home today. It's a Steyr Mannlicher M1895. After a ten day waiting period the anticipation had nearly killed me. It was a breathless moment as I opened the extremely long box and removed the prize within. It's a lovely rifle, surprisingly good looking for being 91 years old. As an additional bonus it seems to have all matching serial numbers.

Manufactured in Vienna in 1917 and re-chambered in 1934, this rifle's been around. The M1895 was the main battle rifle of Austria-Hungary during the first world war. It was still in service into the thirties and you can find Nazi stamped ammunition and clips for the gun. Some of the unique features of this rifle are the straight pull bolt and the clip feeding. Instead of a rotating bolt as is common on bolt-action rifles this bolt is pulled straight backwards and then pushed straight forward. Its five rounds are loaded into a small bloc clip and then loaded into the magazine. When the last round is chambered the clip falls out a small hole in the bottom of the magazine, just forward of the trigger. When it does this it emits a ping noise almost identical to that of the M1 Garand, which is thoroughly satisfying to someone such as myself, someone who wishes they could own a Garand but doesn't have half the money necessary.

It will be a little while before I get to take it to the range. I need some clips and some ammunition, both of which must be ordered online. Hopefully I'll be able to write about it afterwards, maybe upload a video. I'm looking forward to the recoil. I own an M44 Mosin-Nagant which is chambered for the 7.62X54R mm round and it kicks like a beast. This Steyr fires an 8X56R mm round and is shorter and lighter than my Mosin, so it should try to rip my shoulder off. Which is honestly part of the joy of shooting. I love the kick of old rifles. Every time I fire one I have this sudden, visceral, compassion with all the soldiers who fired it many years ago. Video games and movies depict guns constantly but no war movie ever intimates to its viewers the full sensory impact of a firearm. The smell, the weight, the rattling boom, the jarring kick, it's something you have in common with the infantry of World War one after firing such a weapon. As soon as you imagine doing it all day for years you start to get a new handle on history. It's a sobering thought, and an experience that is, to me, utterly delightful.

If you would like to know more about the M1895 you can follow these links:
History of the M1895
Specifications, maintenance, disassembly and more

First Post "Woot"!

After titling this post I realized I had no idea what "woot" really meant or where it had come from. A quick jaunt to Merriam-Webster revealed that woot is not in the dictionary (I know, I was as surprised as you are). A search for woot at wikipedia, most magnificent storehouse of knowledge since the Great Internet Slang Archive of Alexandria, provided me with a little more information. I found this page, which was comical in the seriousness of its tone. I may be a snob but I just don't think the word etymology should be applied to internet slang. We need a different word for where internet lingo comes from, like osmosis. Something base, organic, stupid. A "word" like woot simply becomes absorbed into the bloodstream of society, pushing up out of a well of nonsense and ignorance. The dictionaryesque treatment of woot must needs be a joke. An unwittingly, ironically professional study of a completely ,dare I say it, retarded internet word. Hey, I thought it was funny.