If I could trade in a sibling like a car, she'd be the upgrade..

Penny Arcade

Woot!

   

Coming soon...

   

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

It goes to 11.

Sittin' waiting for a phone call, hungry and needs smokes, but I can't leave yet because I know as soon as I walk out the door and get into my car the phone's going to ring.

It's just the way of the world.

So, back to sitting here and waiting, which works out well in your favor because I happened across some fun mindless entertainment that you may or may not have seen yet. Or care about. Primarily the latter.

Shuttup.

First we make with the YouTube-ry:




Now, if you don't know anything about MC Chris, Kingdom Hearts, Resident Evil 4 or why Tony Soprano is in a coma, then..well. Ok. It's still fucking funny and if you didn't laugh then I've got nothing else for you.


Next we do a little flashback to my childhood:

"Wait..you really want to do this on your own. You are what video games are all about!"


- Oh, for more from these guys, you need to check out How It Should Have Ended.com, and really...I shouldn't be the one telling you these things. You should just know.


The creator of Dilbert figured out how to remap his brain.

- No, really...go read it.

One seriously badass DJ\composer, and right here in my hometown. Who'da known? Oh, if you're teh smrt like moi, you'll find his streaming media playlist for WinAmp, which will provide you with endless supply of Awesome and the rocking out therein.

And finally...

Because it IS Halloween afterall, here's what I'm going to just call the Baddest fucking pumpkin carvings ever. For reals.


Oh hey look at that - phone's ringing. Wish me luck kids.

hugs n' kisses

//end.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Can't think, no time.

Instead, I offer this on this most glorious of Mondays: Fucking brilliant.

Mwahahah (milk comes out of nose)
br0kenrabbit says:
hi

Greg_ValveOLS says:
good evening

br0kenrabbit says:
What's ip?

br0kenrabbit says:
up?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
my name is greg a member of the valve online Support team

br0kenrabbit says:
On MSN?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
yes :)

br0kenrabbit says:
Why?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
we logged multiple ips from your account and ned to verifi your information

br0kenrabbit says:
My information?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
we believe someone may have stolen your account mmmm you havent shared youre account infomation with anyone have you?

br0kenrabbit says:
No. I don't even have it written down.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
hmmm maybe a keylogger on you r PC then maybe you need a format?

br0kenrabbit says:
Well...

Greg_ValveOLS says:
if you can verify your account information to me i can insure that only your ip have access to it Its a new security feature were trying because this happens so muchlogin names and passwords aint safe anymroe You know. L:)

br0kenrabbit says:
Well

Greg_ValveOLS says:
dont worry this connect it secure

br0kenrabbit says:
Can I be honest with you, Greg?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
k

br0kenrabbit says:
Look, I don't know how you go this MSN account name, don't really care, either.

br0kenrabbit says:
Unlike you, I DO work for Valve. Trace my ip and you'll see.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
huh?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
bs

br0kenrabbit says:
Trace it.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
how

br0kenrabbit says:
Start/run/cmd type Tracert and then my IP address and hit enter.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
oh k

br0kenrabbit says:
As an employee, I know that Valve employees will NEVER contact users over MSN. I also know a valve employee will NEVER ask a user for his/her username and password.

br0kenrabbit says:
I'm putting a temporary hold on your Steam account.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
why?

br0kenrabbit says:
Have you read the ToS?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
Tod?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
tos

br0kenrabbit says:
terms of service

Greg_ValveOLS says:
were?

br0kenrabbit says:
Greg, this is a serious infraction against the Tos. You are at risk of losing your account.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
why

br0kenrabbit says:
I just told you why

Greg_ValveOLS says:
:(

br0kenrabbit says:
I need some information from you if you want me to unlock you account. I'm going to write you up but I will only suspend you account for three days, since this is your first infraction, okay?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
k

br0kenrabbit says:
First, what is the name the account is registered to. Not the user name, the persons real name who created the account. This is for verification purposes.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
xxxxx xxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:
Is this you?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
ya

br0kenrabbit says:
Are you the only user of this account?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
ya

br0kenrabbit says:
Okay, and what is the username

Greg_ValveOLS says:
xxxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:
Okay.

br0kenrabbit says:
I see you have purchased a few of our games, thank you. :)

Greg_ValveOLS says:
some. dude

Greg_ValveOLS says:
m

br0kenrabbit says:
Do you always log on from the same IP?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
ya

br0kenrabbit says:
And who is your internet providers, your ISP?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
xxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:
Thank you. One moment, please, let me verify this information.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
am i gonna be bale to play 2nite?

br0kenrabbit says:
What is your city of residence?

br0kenrabbit says:
That depends on if you cooperate. You're doing fine so far.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
xxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:
Illinios?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
yes

br0kenrabbit says:
Okay. And what is the password associated with this account?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
xxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:
Okay. Do not try to log into steam. If you are connected now you need to log off.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
why

br0kenrabbit says:
So I can update your account.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
can I play 2 nite

Greg_ValveOLS says:
clan fight

Greg_ValveOLS says:
wont win without me heh

br0kenrabbit says:
Heh. You'll have to wait a few minutes. Are you logged off?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
ya

br0kenrabbit says:
Okay. Give me just a moment.

br0kenrabbit says:
Try to log in now.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
k

Greg_ValveOLS says:
It says login failed wtf wtf!!@?

br0kenrabbit says:
Greg

Greg_ValveOLS says:
did u ban me???????????>WHY

br0kenrabbit says:
Greg

Greg_ValveOLS says:
what

br0kenrabbit says:
Valve will never ask for your username and password.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
what????

br0kenrabbit says:
I don't work for Valve dude, but you just got pwnt.

Greg_ValveOLS says:
omg dude wtf why?

br0kenrabbit says:
Why were you trying to steal my account?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
i wanst

br0kenrabbit says:
Then why were you asking for my information?

Greg_ValveOLS says:
i was just making a joke but not cerious honest dude just give
my acount back pllllleeease i'm only 13 and save d up for like a year to buy it

br0kenrabbit says:
Greg

Greg_ValveOLS says:
dude pleas

Greg_ValveOLS says:
what

br0kenrabbit says:
Go mow some yards, bitch.



//end.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

What....really?

Flash back 2..3 months ago, and had you'dve told me that I'd be sitting in my bedroom with the two other people that are here with me right now, having the conversation that we've been having pretty much all night, well...

I'd say you're out of your fucking mind.

The kids are up too late, watching movies and having a great time.

We're at least a fifth of very fine Ketel One vodka into the evening, and seriously.

No, seriously.

The food was amazing. Despite what she says, Amy's one hell of a cook and getting better every time she tries. Man I love that rice, baby.

The kids actually managed to behave themselves...so far, so good. They just finished watching 'Little Monsters', staring one very young Fred Savage. Loved that movie when I was a kid too.

We've managed to piece together what I think - and granted, I'm a little biased since I'm directly involved - is shaping up to be an incredibly fun and poignant screenplay.


So, back to the "no, seriously" moments. I dunno what it is, but having the ability and the sense enough to be around people that absolutly enlighten the joys of life just like tonight...well, that's something I would wish for everyone.

That and the fact that I managed to spell poignant right, given my current sobriety level.



Ok, back to my drink and the beautiful women that are currently employing Optimus Prime: The Bed, talking about the joys of the proper sex toy selection.


No...seriously. ;)

Friday, October 13, 2006

Guns and cigarrettes...

My dad, being Texan through and through, grew up with a great love of the outdoors, hunting, fishing, camping…all that true redneck sort of stuff. Of course he handed that knowledge and compassion down to his progeny, and we grew up shooting, hunting, fishing and even learning survival skills should we ever get lost without a cell phone. My brother Ben and I got our first .22 rifles at the ripe age of 5 and 6…beautiful cherry wood, single-shot bolt action target rifles that I still wish I had to this very day.

Our pop taught us how to handle weapons of all shapes and sizes, from rifles, shotguns, handguns big and small, bows, and even slingshots just for the hell of it, and we were, and still are, pretty damn good shots to this day.

Anyway…my dad established a sort of tradition in our family. Every year around Thanksgiving weekend, he wasn't the type to sit at home and eat leftovers watching football. Nope, my dad was off on a three-day whitetail deer hunt, prime time during the rut when all the big bulls were out trying to get some female deer action before the coldest weather and snow hit for the year.

Up until I was 12 or so, we kid weren't allowed to go on those hunts with him - sure, he'd taken myself and my brothers out walking with him earlier in the season, mainly because the deer activity was much lower, and it gave my dad ample opportunity to teach us the finer details of spotting trails and tracks, reading "sign" and tracking the animal, setting up stands and blinds, even rattling and calling during the rut season. All wonderfully fun stuff for us at that age…like we were officially being introduced to the fabulous cash and prizes of Manhood waiting for us on the other side of puberty.

But this year, at the ripe age of 12, it was my turn to go on the big hunt with my dad and his buddies, and I even got to plan where I was going to hunt\set up blinds, carry my own gun, and if all went well…take my first deer! I was so excited I don't think I slept a wink for 2 days leading up to Thanksgiving weekend. I packed and re-packed my little backpack, waterproofed my boots, oiled and cleaned my brand new .30-30 Winchester lever-action rifle…no scope…real men shot with iron sites. The excitement of it all was almost too much for my little 12 year old self to handle, but I was ready for that hunt.

And then..finally. My dad roused me out of bed at 3:30 in the morning, but I was already dressed and ready to go, laying in the quiet dark, the smell of water repellent oil and gunpowder my stimulants. I hopped up and grabbed my gear, and we loaded up my dad's "work" truck, affectionately called Old Blue.

Blue was a '68 Chevy pickup, 3 on the tree old school. Badass truck, so bad that my dad his very best to completely destroy it over years' of overworked abuse. Blue hauled countless cords of firewood from our cabin back into town during the winter. She skidded and leveled old logging roads. She loaded brush to the burn piles as we cleared areas during the summer, and even hauled kids down the lake.

Our cabin is high up near the tip of a mid-size mountain overlooking Diamond Lake, north of Spokane. To get to our cabin, the road is nothing more than a very narrow, very sketchy logging road, and during the winter months, the sketch-level is multiplied by the snow and ruts gouged out by the melting\freezing\melting cycle. Now normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but that particular morning that would all change.

Now, I should make a slight note here, dear reader, that what I am about to describe to you is both shocking and a bit sad, especially if you are a car lover as I am.

My dad…he grew up in a different world, in a different time. See, where he comes from, the faster and easier it is to bag your limit for the season means all the more time available to do what you *really* want to do…sit around the fire, drink beer and tell fart jokes with your buddies. With that in mind, the standard Texas way of hunting circa 1945 was to load up the pickup with weapons, ammo, beer, chili and a spotlight and start driving around the back roads of the hill country until you managed to shoot something.

Yes I know. The legalities and unsportsmanlike notions are comedic.

Well as fathers are wanton to do, my dad decided that certain knowledge and history of said hunting 'practices' were ripe for the handing-down to his eager 12 year old boy. What he neglected to recall is that, in the state of Washington, all hunters wishing to do so legally with license in-hand are required to take a hunting and gun safety course…which deftly covered the immeasurable atrocities that road-hunting would bring to man and animal alike.

Well ok…it wasn't that dramatic, but it was clearly stated in my Hunter's Safety Manual that hunting and\or shooting from a vehicle, moving or otherwise was not only supremely dangerous and stupid, it was most certainly illegal.

Not wishing to question my father at such a time of important information-gathering, I said nary a word when we pulled off to the side of the access road as we neared our turn-off to get to the cabin. As he pulled Old Blue over and parked, he began fumbling around with something under the seat which turned out to be my much-cherished .30-30 Winchester lever-action with no scope!

"Dad…what are we doing here?", trying not to seem like I was questioning my student-teacher position.

"Welp," he said in his accustomed Southern drawl. "We're fixin' to get up on the loggin' road here, and it's early feedin' time for them deer."

"Ah…oh. Well isn't that not…right? They told us in class that drive-huntin' is illegal…" and before I could finish my thought, the distinct *click-CLACK* of the lever-action levering its action open on my rifle put a very certain and poignant close to my questioning.

"Eh this is just in case we see something'…then we'll get out and follow it, right?" said my dad. With that, I was content with the unfolding events, and my dad handed me a bullet to hold for said "just in case" moment, the chamber of the rifle sitting open between us on the bench seat of Old Blue.

As we started clambering up the logging road, the ruts and run-off made special effort to knock us and all our gear all over the place. I will always fondly revel in my dad's ability to balance a cup of coffee, light a cigarette, shift gears and steer a very old, very tired 3-on-the-tree, no power-steering truck up the 56 degree angled side of a mountain without batting an eye. Even now, I strive to have that perfect redneck Zen balance.

As I was hanging on for dear life on the bumpy ride up, my dad spotted what must have amounted to something furry and living as he abruptly stopped our forward-uphill progress. Before I had time to unpeel my face from the glovebox façade and collect my thoughts, my dad shut the truck off and killed the lights…the barely-noticeable light of dawn just beginning to creep up over the trees.

"Here git that shell in the gun…I think I saw somethin' yonder" he said through a large exhale of Winston 100 cigarette smoke.

Excited at the sudden possibility of getting right into the Hunt that morning, I one-upped my dad's command and dropped the .30 caliber bullet into the open breach and *click-CLAK* smoothly closed the lever, the rifle now primed and ready to fire.

Now, if you've never seen or handled a lever-action rifle, it's quite a piece of machinery. These are the very same rifles ever-present and popular in almost every Western cowboy Clint Eastwood movie ever made. They were easy to load, easy to clean, and had a shorter total length which made them perfect for mounting to saddles and long trail ride hunts, and they were wickedly accurate and dependable as hell. The most interesting feature of the .30-30 Winchester was that it was a hammer-action, meaning that when you pulled the trigger, a hammer much like that of a revolver fell to strike the firing pin and …well, you know the rest.

This hammer now posed quite a problem for my 12 year old mind and gloved hands. Whenever ever you locked the lever-action back, it cocked the hammer to a firing position, and to get back to a relatively safe position, you had to simultaneously squeeze the lever safety, hold the hammer with your thumb, and slowly pull the trigger, letting the hammer gently go back to a non-firing position.

Yeah. This posed a bit of a problem for me even in the most non-stressful of situations, sans gloves, cold, or my dad breathing smoke in my face waiting for me to get on with it so we could go kill stuff.

After what seemed an eternity of me staring wide-eyed at my very own, beloved rifle mocking me in desperation (which was just shy of 3.2 seconds), my dad solved all my anxiety with a very blunt "Here…lemme do it."

As I moved my hand away, my dad grabbed the handle and with that redneck Zen that I had known and admired, squeezed the lever safety and began dropping the hammer down.


To this day, all I can remember of the following 15-25 seconds was the unbelievable sensation of being trapped in a cloud, only it smelled vaguely like the cloud was made of gun powder and anti-freeze. I couldn't hear anything, I couldn't see anything….I actually thought I was dead and was still traveling on to my next destination, wishing severely that I had gone to confession last weekend and fessed up to swiping that dollar from my mom's purse. I was bound for Hell and it smelled like anti-freeze….how ironic.

Slowly, like a bad movie of the week flashback, the cloud literally began to fade, and things started coming back into focus…hey, there's my dad….

…what the hell's he saying? …"..mmmthhbp…"

"WHAT DAD!??" I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!", I said.

"..mmmmthfkknn ooottt tthddrrrk….!" he echoed back severely.

We began rolling the windows down, fumbling our way through the remains of the cloud inside the cab of Old Blue. My ears were ringing like never before, and it took nearly 15 minutes and us just sitting and staring wide-eyed out the windshield to try and collect ourselves and verify that we were not, in fact, dead.

Turns out that the prior 15 minutes of muffled silence was in the best interest of my relatively-virgin age 12 ears, because my dad was weaving a tapestry of foul language that would've embarrassed the most brazen and\or drunken sailor of ill repute. When the fog in my head, eyes and ears began to clear, my dad and I both climbed out of the truck, the light of dawn now giving us a better idea of what had happened.

As we circled around the front of the truck, I noticed steam billowing out from under her front fenders. I ducked down and took a peek under the front of the truck, and sure enough, Blue was hemorrhaging anti-freeze all over the logging road. We walked back around and leaned into survey the damage on the inside of the truck, now that the cloud of instant heat from the rifle and anti-freeze had cleared out. As suspected, there was a still-sizzling hole the diameter of my thumb in the center floorboard of Blue, and my dad had managed to miss all mission-critical parts on the truck save a major coolant line that run to the heater core.

Still in silence, my dad and I stood at the front of Blue, watching her steam and drip in the middle of the woods in late November.

After 20 minutes or so of solemn quiet for the recently-injured, I turned and looked at my dad, his trademark Winston 100 cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. I couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling, so I just took a gamble.

"Dad?"

"Yeah boy."

"You killed Blue."

Dead silence as he took a long drag and blew it out the other corner of his mouth, trying desperately to hold back the laughter I could see in his eyes.

Without changing his glance, "Y'tell yer mother 'bout this, and yer next."

And with that, I've never laughed quite so hard in my life as I did the morning my dad killed Old Blue.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Serious business.

Christ I suck at keeping this thing up to date. I mean really.

I've actually had a viable excuse, but only recently. Well, aside from work, work and more work - which I like, don't get me wrong - finally got to move out of that god-forsaken house and into a new place last week, and amidst that particular brand of chaos, everything else has been rather interesting and busy as well.

Work: entering into Q4 for the year, and break-fix mode doesn't even begin to cover it. My project list alone, just for the month of October, is just shy of fucking retarded, let alone all the other stuff that we're contending with this quarter. We've got expansion in China, two new offices opening up on the east coast, and a miriad of project work here at the homestead. So "busy" doesn't really do it justice, but it is what it is.

May be off to Atlanta and New Jersey towards the end of this month, which is both cool and a large pain in the butt at the exact same time. Our offices in China are doing well from the last report, but I may get to head overseas early next year to check things out, so that's nifty.

Non-work: The new place kicks so much ass it hurts. Finally got all the stuff packed, loaded and moved, and I shit you not - 8 full loads of crap hauled off to the dump and the Goodwill drop-station. It was super-awesome doing most of that alone too, lemme tell ya. But whatever. It's done and I'm fucking ecstatic about it, and the new joint is just perfect. It's brand new, it's clean and laid out nicely - I finally have counter space in the kitchen! Went out and spent way too much money on new gear for the place, each time with the full intention to 'just buy towels'...and yeah, I still haven't gotten those towels yet. But what I DID get is shiny new appliances and silveware and other stuff (went with metallic red as the color theme in the kitchen - looks so awesome), shiny new deep blue swag for the bathroom, and...oh, and the best part:

So, a little side-story here. Last weekend, me and Skippy were on Dump Run #5 and I got a call from my ex-wife's uncle Rick, who I was told, by her a few weeks prior, was now part-owner in a mattress liquidation store. Very cool, I've been meaning to start shopping around for a new bed anyway. Talked to Rick a week or so prior to the move and let him know I was in the market, but would have to revisit post-move time. So, en route to said waste transfer station, Rick calls and says he's got all kinds of deals for me and hey, we're right in his neighborhood if we wanna stop by and check stuff out.

Aces.

So the Skipper and I cruise on over to Rick's mattress joint to see what the old boy's got. We chit-chat, and I hint at my price range (which wasn't much), and let him kind of figure out a deal that we'd both be happy with. And yes, I did have cash. Hint hint nudge nudge. I can barter my face off when called upon.

We head over to the warehouse..area...where Rick's mid-project on a brand new mattress he'd just received that morning, and had it up on saw horses, ready for bagging and tagging as it were. I told him I was happy with queen-size, and that even though my shiny new 1-bedroom joint was freakin' big, size was still something to consider.

"Well, have you ever thought about a cal-king?"

"What the hell's a 'cal-king', Rick?"

He went on to give Skippy and myself the full spectrum tour of mattress sizes, shapes, depths and dimensions, and most importantly, the spacial differences between a King, an East Coast King, and a California King.

Now don't get me wrong: the bigger the bed, the bigger the Awesome...but I've never really envisioned myself the owner of a "king" classification in any regard. Just hasn't fallen under the budgetary\spacial concern, y'know?

According to Rick, the Cal-King is by and large the best mattress out there, since, by definition, the 'cal' demarcation indicates that the mattress is 72" wide (only a foot wider than a queen-size), but is 80" long, whereas your standard king or "east coast king", as it were, can be 80" by 84"...which is fucking huge.

"Well, that's interesting stuff Rick and god knows I'd love to be able to have a bed that massive and comfortable. What's this one retail for anyway?" as I point at the new one sitting on the saw horses in front of us.

"Oh, I just got this one. Costco and other first-run bedding places sell this one in the $3,000 range."

"Riiiight."

"Oh..*he chuckles*..Well, how much cash did you say you brought?"

"Well I didn't say..."

And before I couldn't finish my thought - "I'll give it to you right now for $300."


.... :|

..


"You're fucking kidding right, Rick?"

"No no no - seriously man, this is a great mattress."

"Yeah, no Rick I mean yes - of course it is. But...are you serious? You're gonna give me a three THOUSAND dollar mattress for a tenth of the cost?"

"Well....yeah. You said you needed a new bed, right? This is the best I got man - "

So, for whatever reason, I decided what the hell - why not see what else I can work in this deal. Rick ended up giving me this gigantor cal-king mattress, a new set of low-profile box springs and a new rail set for a grand total of $330, done and done. I couldn't believe how massive this thing was - it literally dwarfed Skippy's truck, and the damned thing weighs in at a solid 230 pounds, but good Christ on a three wheeler, I have never, ever slept on anything so comfortable in my life. Ever.

So, yeah. Now the proud of owner of the Optimus Prime of beds, I had to go get all new bedding and shit too (obviously!), and lemme tell ya, if you're currently sleeping on some weak-ass 200 thread count linen or flannel garbage, do yourself a favor and go get the real deal. Don't settle for anything less than 100% Egyptian cotton, 600 thread or higher.

For serious.

//a.

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Name:
Location: Seattle, Washington, United States

I'm old. I'm only 30, but some days I feel *old*. I have a beautiful 6 year old daugher. A nice life. A loving family. A gorgeous girlfriend. Yep, pretty boring. But dammit I'm here to write about it and you can't stop me!

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