Topics

That means we all start over like the past 8-10 years hasn't happened. I think it's a time travel thing but idk for sure.

TLDR; Help me convince my friends to vote for Biden.

Context: I like Sen. Sander' policies. I hate Joe Biden. I hate Orange Hitler probably more than anything. I tend to vote very ideologically, but am smart enough to know when to when to switch strategies and be more pragmatic. The people I know that are Sanders supporters have the most stellar intentions and hold very strong progressive values, but feel slighted and are understandably impatient for some major changes, which they, understandably, do not expect from a Biden presidency.

No, insulting their intelligence and lumping them all in as "Bernie Bros" is not effective and will have counterproductive outcomes.

I intend on messaging my friends individually to make a case. I would like to make that case as strongly as possible. I need to make this as appealing to them as possible. I hate doing this, I hate voting and convincing others to vote in a manner that defies their core values, but it must be done.

I would like all of your help to construct the most foolproof (lol, I know) argument possible, using ethos and pathos where logos won't do.

For the record, the second time was an accident.











#occupy my fucking screen name

It's occurred to me, there isn't much you can do to stop me from doing this according to the forum rules, so, get fucking used to it.

These fucking tyrannical douche-nozzles stole my rights! We all deserve to be able to change our screen names (especially when I only want to change it back to what it was.)

#occupy my fucking screen name.

Third time's a charm...

If you don't let me change my name back to dimo, I will leave and never return, OR, I will stay forever and never let you forget I exist, whichever is worse...

Why can't I change me name? I thought it was the computer I was on that wouldn't let me somehow, but it's not letting me on this computer, either. I would like to just be regular old dimo again, but fuck...

Oh, yeah, and something something something, chaos, something something discord, something, yada yada, nice to be back, and so on.

Why can't I change me name? I thought it was the computer I was on that wouldn't let me somehow, but it's not letting me on this computer, either. I would like to just be regular old dimo again, but fuck...

Oh, yeah, and something something something, chaos, something something discord, something, yada yada.

Got into a huge argument with my original bass player about the dangers of advertising, especially in regards to kids. He refuted my claim that advertising (or, as it is in America, blatant psychological manipulation and abuse) can be harmful by falling into a straw man argument, in which he called into question my authority on the subject (because I am not an authority, all my arguments are invalid). Not only did he continue to defend immoral and outright dangerous advertising techniques (despite the fact that he has a young daughter, the most susceptible target of said ad practices), he also was incapable of understanding that calling my character into question was not a logically viable means of argument, leading to invalid counterpoints in regards to my original premises.

I have just printed up a packet for him, including guidlines to a logically cogent method of argumentation, as well as a definition of "fallacy" and a description of a straw man fallacy in particular, as well as a few articles from science weekly that help illustrate my position, but not as well as I would like. Does anyone have links to good, preferably pier-reviewed, articles that can help bolster my argument?   

 ...ask me anything.

Just don't be prepared for anything meaningful.

send help

1: Cook one pound of bacon.

2: Eat one pound of bacon.

3: Reflect.

I'm sorry I've been away. School started and I'm back to my favorite things: Class, Grass and Ass (does the last one make me shallow? Maybe).

I'm busting out some fun equations, and, in fact, I've excelled so well in astronomy after only one semester that they are considering giving me a payed tutoring position (but don't say I said that, I'm not supposed to know, and it's not definite). Funny to think how I thought I hated math. I now love the language of numbers almost more than I love the language of words.

But I miss you guys, so I'm taking what little time I have to say hello, and let you all know that you guys are always on my mind and in my heart (Awkward? Well, if the truth be awkward, so be it). Even those of you I hate, you jerks.

A few years back, when I first arrived here, I had felt like I had reached the ceiling of my potential. But, thanks to many of you, I blew through that upper-limit a with a velocity surprising and almost frightening to me. I have a new ceiling, now. Higher than the sky. I never would have known it to be possible if it weren't for many of you (Even those of you I hate, you jerks).

Please realize you are all capable of amazing things.

Peace or Chaos, Win or Lose, Alone or In Good Company, may the Universe smile upon your endeavours.

Dimo, TTLC, HMSH, House of GABCab/Cuddlefish of the Vicious Infinite Regress.

A long time ago, in a place not too distant from where we are now, there was a star.

This star was special, as it was a milestone in the history of the Universe, destined to be a catalyst for one of the greatest events of all time, regardless of time's circular and amorphous nature. Like an amoeba, the Universe grew without purpose, and chaos, indeed, did course through Her. As years tick-tocked like seconds, the star grew hotter, until eventually it collapsed, shedding it's outer layers back into the womb that birthed it.

The new elements that had formed within the star, once expelled, took form over time, creating worlds. These worlds then formed terrain and atmospheres, weather patterns and magnetic Fields. Some formed fascinating rings of frozen water, others created thick skies and lakes of methane, while even others would develop even more bizarre and unpredicted features. On one world in particular, something unique happened.

The Universe held this one world, in particular, in great favor, and there She gave birth to her successors. On a tiny speck among tiny specks, beings came into existence. Each of these beings, either a god or a demon, were capable of the most wondrous of creations, and the most terrifying destruction, beyond the ability of even their Mother. She had no desire; things moved as they were moved, and stopped only as they stopped. But the gods on the tiny speck-world had the ability to decide. They had intention, and She gave Herself to them, like any good mother would.

These gods and demons each bore a unique and individual symbol; a pattern etched onto their hands and fingertips. These markings were the symbols of the gods and demons born from the stars.

Bound by no thing beyond the most basic forces of nature, these gods decided. They used their unique ability to name each of the ten-thousand-things inhabiting their dust speck. To catalogue and calculate, to observe patterns and then change them to suit their needs. However, the very thing that gave them their power over the ten-thousand-things, their ability to decide, was their undoing.

One of these beings, not satisfied with it's control over Nature, grew the desire to assert his control over his kin. Slowly, he managed to convinced the other gods and demons that they were not gods at all, but merely the creation of one ultimate God. Taking advantage of the pattern-interpretation systems inherent in the first sentients, he was able to convince these once great gods and demons to become lowly. They cursed one another for not being as perfect as this one mythical God. Those that didn't believe were chased out by those that succumbed to the trickery. Slowly, the greatest of gods and demons decided to voluntarily step down. To become slaves to their own creations.

Soon after, all memory of their great heritage was lost. The beings that were destined to be gods, to show the Universe to Herself, were now nothing but stacks of carbon and water following arbitrary rules and orders. They had forgotten that they had the power to decide their own fate, and the fate of the Universe, Herself...

Some say, to this day, you can still see this dust-speck-world when you look towards the heavens. You can see, if you look very closely, the swirling white markings across it's blue-green surface, mimicking the whorls and lines of the star-symbols etched on to the palms and finger-tips of the gods and demons that inhabit it. Some say they are lost forever, eternally confused and bewildered by the world around them. Others think they have long since exterminated the Universes awareness-apparatus, each other. Some people, though considered misguided, believe that one day these beings with the spiral markings granted to them by the stars, would realize the great con that had been perpetrated against them and reclaim their place as Her Eyes and as Her Hands.

But then again, who believes in fairy tales, after all?

The Paraplegics will make a glorius return with OUR ORIGINAL LINE-UP on October 8th.

Faces will be fucked, feces will be flung. Chaos and devastation will manifest accross the land with no hope for escepe.

Pussy-ass Mother Nature even attempted to thwart us by throwing hurricanes and earthquakes at us, but she's a feeble old twat.

We can not be stopped.

Resistance is just plain fucking stupid.

Lock the doors.

Hide the kids.

Secure your beer.

You mother fuckers have no hope for survival.

Tender flesh, like fruits for picking. Scent of breath, warm lips and licking.
Sticky sliding smooth, insisting. Biting nibble no resisting.
Quiver closely then deliver, shiver slightly, flowing river.
Shudder, flutter, melt like butter. It's just once, let's have another.
Time can stop for drops of sweat, the wet and hot, let's not forget...

...The seconds passing, as we're gasping for what we've got, and haven't yet.

There's no drug I could desire that could fly me any higher.
Tire never, skin of fire, in this place where we conspire.
With a sigh the driving hastens, pacing steady, but not racing.
Face to face, no waste of tasting, most basic form of communication.
In moments of anticipation, there exists not one equation...

...For position and momentum in the quantum state of this sensation.

He watched from his mountain top encampment as the world below was engulfed by the unrestricted flow of rubble. As the remains of cities continued it's tide, it mixed with lake and sewer water, reducing it's over all viscosity, causing it to move even faster.

He knew this would happen. Though, admittedly, he didn't know it would happen like this. People had laughed at him when he first made the decision to live alone on the mountain top, away from the modern distractions of flashing lights, whistles and dings. He always knew that it was they that were owned by their property, not the other way around. And owned they were. The irony made him chuckle. At least he still had his sense of humor.

But he knew. He knew he would be safe atop his mountain. As he processed the information of the rigid tidal, he grew quite confident that the wave would not reach him. But, still, he was worried. No, the brick and glass, plastic and sewerage would not reach him, but he knew that was not his only concern. He knew that the people, the survivors, would prove to be the biggest challenge of this tragedy. The bricks would not reach him, but the people would.

He envisioned it. A dirty broken convoy of men, women and children climbing his mountain. Carrying with them the remnants of their possesions. Thirsty. Hungry. Some dying during the climb. Children being abandoned on the choppy shoreline, there would be nothing to sustain them, so they are left to the rubble. He saw it in his minds eye, so clear that he could smell their dust and asbestos caked perspiration. He could hear their wails. By not making a choice, they had chosen to ride. They rode, or they died.

The hermit, then, realized it was his time to make a choice of his own. Surely, it would be any day now that the procession of survivors would reach the base of his mountain. He must decide. Start preparing food, beds and medicine, or bar his doors and windows, with a note taped to the main entrance, saying: "I told you so."

 There was a palpable sensation in the air that day. Sort of what you would expect on a very hot very humid afternoon. Except it was neither hot, nor humid. It was this weird "bearing down" sensation, unlike anything anyone had felt before. Kind of like gravity itself had somehow gotten a little stronger. There was weight in the air.

Most people chose to spend the day outside, luckily. They conveined on porches and stoops across the country. A lot of places had been shut down because the machines and gadgets weren't working properly, and the water tables were all fucked up, on top of that. Every one of them was aware of what was going on, they had seen the ever-so-slight bend in the beams and trusses, but no one spoke a word about it. They chose to not see it coming.  

Then it happened, and when it did, it happened in waves.

The first house dropped at 5:23 Eastern time. Flattened in less than a second, compacted into it's own foundation, the shockwave erupting debris. This started a chain reaction, clear across the neighborhood. House by house, flattened within moments. A hungry ripple of old junk, plywood, glass and cheap vinyl siding. This same scene played out in almost the exact same fashion in small cities and towns clear across the country.

Some people panicked. Others ignored it, it was only low and lower-middle class properties that imploded, after all. The media was having a Field day, along with religious leaders all over the world. The scientific community collectively scratched their heads.

Numbers began coming in a few days later. The death toll of the incident was mounting, and there were hundreds yet to be accounted for. The damage was more than significant, even if isolated. Cities built near fault lines, or otherwise coded for natural disasters, took the least amount of damage, and refugees began pouring in. No one got a chance to hear the final death toll. Because it wasn't over.

It seemed to have happened in slow motion, yet instantly and out of nowhere. Churches with steeples and buildings with similar structures collapsed in on their supports, spearing themselves into oblivion, in sepukku style suicides. Old factory buildings, brick and iron monoliths from the industrial age, spiderwebbed with cracks suddenly, then shattered into flying fragments and tangles of concrete and re-bar. Skyscrapers, en masse, fell into themselves and onto each other, hurling I-beams like javelins. Bridges. Schools. Hospitals. Simultaneous collapse.

Under the extreme gravity, the debris churned and folded in on itself, expelling cars and wire fence and then re-consuming them. The outward force of the shockwave propelled it all. As the waves proceeded, the sea of destruction swelled into a massive tidal wave as high as a skyscraper. There was only one thing anyone could do at this point:

Ride or Die.

In stark contrast to this story, astronomers discover a planet that is composed almost entirely of diamond. More amazingly, it is in a system with a millisecond pulsar (neutron star), which rotates 10,000 times a minute, is a mere 12 miles across, and has a mass roughly equal to 1.5 solar masses. The planet itself is huge, at approximately five times the size of earth. Oh, and did I mention THAT IT'S A GIANT FUCKING DIAMOND???

Read more here.

A newly discovered alien planet that formed from a dead star is a real diamond in the rough.

The super-high pressure of the planet, which orbits a rapidly pulsing neutron star, has likely caused the carbon within it to crystallize into an actual diamond, a new study suggests.

The composition of the planet, which is about five times the size of Earth, is not its only outstanding feature.

The planet's parent star is a special kind of flashing star known as a millisecond pulsar, a rapidly rotating neutron star formed from a supernova. The entire system, which is only the second of its kind ever discovered, is located about 4,000 light-years from Earth in the constellation of Serpens (The Snake).

NASA's WISE mission discovers coolest class of stars

Scientists using data from NASA's Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer (WISE) have discovered the coldest class of star-like objects, with temperatures as cool as the human body.

In a circle, slowly spinning.
Like it was in the beginning.
Gravitation shapes formations,
Disks of dust make for creations.
One is barren, one is bare.
If one's just right, we might appear.
But what's just right for you and yours,
spinning molten iron cores,
Might not match another's wish
For existance in the Her peitri dish.

Living life with one eye open
You see the world as slightly broken.
Open up both of your eyes,
Perhaps you still can be surprised.
The odds are astronomically against
All we are, in a certain sense.
So take the chance to play or ponder,
perhaps then, you may grow fonder
For this chance that you've been given.
And begin to start truly living.

Going to start putting together the 2011 Meat-Up Edition of Intermittens (finally, I know).

Things I need from you spags:

1) Verify the accuracy of this list of works/contributors

Twid - two pieces (have)
Eve - one piece (have)
EoC - two pieces (have one. Link to "clamato" plz?)
Richter - two pieces? (I think I have both, have to check PMs)
Luna - one piece (I think I have, have to check PMs)
Tripletits - one piece (I think I have)
Squid - Did you send me something? Oh, yeah, It's in my PMs, I think.
Cainad - CONTRIBUTED NOTHING. You have 48 hrs.
Cram - No actual contributions, but photos and NUMR related stuff can be attributed to you if you didn't write anything.
Me - One piece (so far, will write an editorial/contents page)

Who am I missing? I'm pretty sure I'm missing at least one or two peeps. I know we had a max attendance around 16 heads, but not everyone contributed, so I may actually have everyone.

2) Photo's

Cram, I know you took shitloads of pics. Link to where they are hosted?

Everyone else: if there is a particular picture you want included, please link to it.

3) Non-photo pictures

Artwork for the cover is needed. I also would like someone to shoop me a pic of a house inside a wrestling ring (I'd do it myself, but it would look like ass. I know there's somebody better at shooping than me) for the NUMR section.

Any other artwork would be appreciated, as it's going to be a thin-ish issue, and good filler would be neat-o.


4) Other

If you want attribution as something OTHER than your known screen name, LET ME KNOW. Otherwise, I will use the screen name you used when I first met you (NOT your current screen name. NO REAL NAMES!).

Anything I forgot??

[ON]

IT'S ON, ASS-LIPS!!!!

ANYBODY STUPID ENOUGH TO POST IN THIS HERE THREAD IS GONNA GET WHAT FOR! AND THEN, MAYBE, WHAT FIVE!

IMMA TELL YOU WHAT I REALLY THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU THINK YOU REALLY THINK ABOUT YOU!

SUCK IT, FUCKERS.

I suppose it's easy to say, these days, that there are no more heroes. What, with Superman turning out to be a nazi, and Iron Man's overt self-interests. Hell, even the good ones weren't ever really the heroes we needed them to be. Batman, he was on the right track, but he lacked the balls to finish the job. And Spider-Man, well, that poor guy eventually collapsed under the pressure of such great responsibility. It was bound to happen when all other great power piled their responsibilities onto his spindley shoulders. Crushed like a bug. The Irony...

We, in many ways, did this ourselves. We are the ones that put that extra weight on Spidey's back. We're the ones that told Batman not to kill. We are the ones that told Mr. stark that we'd rather have a flatscreen TV and a giant trampoline in the back yard, than all this "holier than thou" superhero nonsense.

However, this day I come, bearing a lantern, and I'm mad as hell. We have killed them, our heroes. Be it by being uninformed or apathetic, we stand convicted of the crime of murder, and by "doing nothing" we may as well have injected the poison ourselves. And so it seems we're doomed to an eternity of Arkham mad-men with their laughing gas balloons and fear inducing chemical compounds. But I say, it need not be this way. We can be reformed. Must we not become heroes ourselves just to seem worthy of the charge?

But, what does it mean to be a hero? Well, I can tell you what it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean you have a robotic suit of armor, or super strength, or weirdo bug powers. The real powers start long before all that stuff. Power means being informed. It means sharing that information, and exchanging it. It means adaptability under harsh circumstances, and innovation and imagination, to see creative new solutions to archaic problems that seem to refuse to die. All these above attributes, well, I've described something that every human alive can accomplish, given the motivation.

There may be no more heroes now, but that's only because the new pantheon of protectors are in their infancy, eagerly awaiting personal perfection, in order for them to champion the people, their friends, family, country men and the world. This new breed of hero will be unlike anything this world has seen before. And it's up to us, not to abandon all hope or step up and get silenced faster than a phone-call from a creepy stalker, but to clear the road for these Overmen. Destroy the roadblocks. Re-route the enemy. Confuse and delay them. Buy some time. Perfect ourselves. There are no heroes, but I see the early stages. I see people with knowledge and imagination, with the power to motivate people. I see these people everywhere, budding into super flowers of progress. I see them here, every day.

One madman came too soon. Let's not wait to hear hear the words of the madman that comes too late.

It's been almost two years since stumbled upon this horrible, horrible, wonderful place. Two fucking years, FFS. It seems like two seconds.

[move]Am not even the same person anymore.
Two years ago, was teetering on the edge of "resignation to the status quo" and "outright nihilistic fatalism." Had so much to prove, to say, to believe in, but at the same time, knew deep down that it was all bull. A general need to prove people wrong out of some strange need to be right. It was the vacuum good ol' Fred was talking about with the madman. Think may have heard it said around (here, maybe??) that when you stare into the abyss, it stares back, hard. The infinitessimosity (fun new vocab!) of it. Words tend to fail. So just make them up, or use fewer of them now... [/move]

And now am a Fish. A streak in the undergarments of the Universe, red-shifting away into the fire-works!
                                                                                                                                             
                                                                                                                                                         [move] Thanks for the boost.                                                                                                                                                                                                         Hugs & cuddles,
                                                                                                                                                                                                        dimo/dimon't[/move]

Dog, for the most part, liked his life. Master fed him, and he had a decent enough yard, with just enough space to play and poop.

Dog, however, was curious and inteligent, and it wasn't so long before he realized the fence. Dog became obsessed with everything that happened on the other side of it. "Where is that car going? What's that smell? Far more exciting things happen out there, on the other side of this fence!" And soon, Dog began planning an escape.

Over the course of the next five nights, Dog endeavored to dig a hole, clear underneath the fence to the other side. To the land of freedom and opportunity.

On the morning after the fifth night, Dog escaped. Upon exiting his tunnel, Dog noticed a stray canine, intently observing a butterfly.

"Ho, there!" Dog called to the stray, "Don't you realize that you are free? Why aren't you running and playing, pooping and peeing on everything you see?"

The stray looked up at Dog and smiled. He said nothing, sniffed the grass a bit, and continued to regard the butterfly.

"Well, if you want to waste it, that's fine with me! I'm going to play and play, forever, without restriction! So long!" and Dog took off running.

With unrestrained glee, Dog took off running into the world, wild. His tongue slung out, flapping flagellently."The sights! The smells! Look! I am my own!" and he ran and ran...

...Right into traffic and got hit by a Greyhound.

The customer is always right. Well, at least he fucking used to be. Now that there's no competition for (or time or energy to compete with, even) massive retailers, you can go ahead and throw that old adage right out the window. S'true. Hell, they got rid of that one a while ago for "you break it, you buy it."

Unfortunately, the newest business motto is even worse. They won't say it to your face, mind you, but they sure as fuck giggle it to themselves every time you drop a dollar. Yep, the new unspoken motto: "we broke it, you bought it. So F U." Whatever in fuck's name ever happened to customer service?

Haha! Laughing yet? I am (teeth means laughing, right?). Customer service. Yeah, right. So, that thing you just bought with your hard earned cash (you know, that stuff you worked OT at three jobs for just so you could make the bills back off a bit, and, maybe, hopefully, have something leftover for, y'know, recreation time? Yeah, that stuff) discovered its 30 day warranty was up and shit the bed. So, you call good ol' customer service.

And they'll tell you it's your fault.

That's right. The people that are supposed to be servicing you, the customer, are militantly defending the company's bottom line, probably because they were browbeaten by new "policy" till their heads were all swimmy. It's not there fault, though. In this economy, sometimes you have to put your own personal ideals (not to mention your pride, dignity and self respect) on the back burner for a bit just to stay employed. No, it's not their fault. It's your fault.

Now, why is this? It's because these huge corporations are better than you. More rights means better, right? This is Americur, after all... Hell, they have the right to take out tax-free life insurance policies on the 90 year old Alzheimer's patient that they make work all day without a break until He's ready to croak, which should be any day now, by my calculations, and have the nerve to call it "dead peasants" insurance (which accounts for roughly 20% of Insurance companies yearly income), as if having wine and cheese while his family struggles to make up the lost income isn't insulting enough. How about investing that money on, I dunno, better health insurance. Or at least, maybe, a friggin' lunch break.

Frig, we're not even customers. We're not even consumers anymore. Not even people. We're "human resources," like a sausage person being harvested for parts. We die, some jackass VP goes on vacation. But that's your fault, right?

It's your fault that no one regulates these guys anyway. But, shit, why would we want regulation, think about the free market! Think about capitalism! Think about 4.9 million barrels of oil in your back yard!

Sure, we can make a patsy out of one or two companies that make major boners to keep the illusion of regulation, but it's nothing a multi-million dollar PR campaign and a yacht ride can't fix (What's that? You don't have a yacht? Haha! What a plebian!). Even if they got hit hard, they'll be back with a new business motto, a new name and a bigger bottom line. But fuck, that's your fault, so they say.

Whatever.

We're all getting shit on, but sometimes I feel like one of the only ones that can smell it.

Fuck it.

What the fuck do I know, anyway.

[Doritos to the Slam]

For the past eight years or so, people have been asking me for a lyrics sheet for The Paraplegics songs. So, I'm going to archive them here, where no one can find them.

Doritos to the Slam

Why speak? 'Cuz all words are lies.
Words betray your thoughts, man, don't act so surprised.
People only tell you what they want you to hear.
All along you thought that those were your ideas.

Go away, don't look back.
I'd really like to stay, but we're all under attack

Politicians always talk, again and again.
If they were so smart they'd let their actions speak for them.
They just want your conciousness, they just want your cash.
But if I had my druthers, I'd cram it up their greedy ass.

Go away, don't look back.
I'd really like to stay, but we're all under attack.

There's no beleiving until there is seeing, in case your not listening
We're under attack.


Drunk (It's Just a State of Mine)

Don't wanna go out, I don't wanna think.
I'd rather sit here and have another drink.
Don't wanna go out, 'cuz I don't see the point.
Think I mighjt smoke another joint.

When I go out, I don't care.
                    (drink a beer)
This shit could happen anywhere.
                    (smoke some weed)
When I think about what I need
                           (drink a beer)
Make you bleed!

(repeat)


Bomb You

I got a message for you.
Fuck with us, where gonna bomb you.
Am I getting through?
You, you, we're  gonna bomb you!
It's the end of you, and your people now
We're gonna bomb you.
Am I getting through?
You, you, we're gonna bomb you.

Look to the sky
(gonna bomb you)
See the planes fly by
(gonna bomb you)
You're wondering why
(gonna bomb you)
You're all gonna die.
(gonna bomb you)
Haven't you heard?
(gonna bomb you)
Annhilation's the word
(gonna bomb you)
And though it's absurd
(gonna bomb you)
It's our duty to procure

I got a message for you.
Fuck with us, where gonna bomb you.
Am I getting through?
You, you, we're  gonna bomb you!
It's the end of you, and your people now
We're gonna bomb you.
Am I getting through?
You, you, we're gonna bomb you.

Can't you understand?
(gonna bomb you)
it's our master plan
(gonna bomb you)
we're the only ones who can
(gonna bomb you)
Have nuclear weapons on hand
(gonna bomb you)
All we got is pride
(gonna bomb you)
Leave the ethics on the side
(gonna bomb you)
And I must confide
(gonna bomb you)
It's time to say good bye!


Catastrophe (Fun With Knives)

Murder x 4
It's so fine
Do it x 4
All the time
Grab a big knife, kill all that you see
Kill your fucking self, man, do it for me.

There fucking has to be a bloody catastrophe (Go go, go go)
Hey buddy that's blasphemy, a bloody catastrophe (Go go, go go)

Murder x 4
It's so fine
Do it x 4
All tthe time
I'll kill you, make you my slave
You don't get no fucking grave

There fucking has to be a bloody catastrophe (Go go, go go)
Hey buddy that's blasphemy, a bloody catastrophe (Go go, go go)


Fuck You Douche Bag

And a-one, and a-two and a-fuck you douche bag

Fuck you douche bag x ???

I really hate the fashion, I think it's fucking queer
Why don't you get your punk ass out of here
You say your "working class" but you got brand new clothes
I'm gonna kick you in  your fucking ass, and punch you in your fucking nose

Fuck you douche bag x ???

Get over it, yeah, Joey's fucking dead
If you bought a Ramone's shirt, you've lost your fucking head
I see you at the shows, I hope you fucking die
I hope you fucking die die die die die die die die die

Fuck you douche bag x infinity

Red Flag

You think you're fucking funny when you're fucking pushing button?
After all this time, you thought you wouldn't fuck up nothin'?
I'm gonna cut you up and put your body in a bag
'cuz up in my head went a fuckiong red flag

Who wants to get punched? Step up front! x 2

There's a red flag going up in my head
(red flag, red flag)                                        x 2
Now your gonna end up dead

What's up with my head?
(Stop fucking with my head)
(Red flag, tred flag)                                    x 2
And your gonna end up dead.

So you think you're fucking tough, guy? Go ahead and cross the line.
But I'm thinking I should warn you that I've lost my fucking mind
Don't get pissed at me because you're (inaudable)
Cuz up ion my head went a fucking read flag!

First you drink, then you punch x 2

There's a red flag going up in my head
(red flag, red flag)                                        x 2
Now your gonna end up dead

What's up with my head?
(Stop fucking with my head)
(read flag, red flag)
And you're gonna end up dead.

meh...

Sorry for the inconvenience...

We're playing a show this weekend, and I had an interesting idea for an "activity" to bring a little more "fun" into the pit. I'm going to bring a stack of approx. 32 sealed envelopes and hand them out to select people/strangers with the instructions to NOT open the envelope until I give the word. Now, each envelope is going to contain a slip of paper with a simple instruction typed on it, and three or four songs into our set, I'm going to tell everyone that received an envelope to open it and read it to themselves, and when the song starts, perform the action written inside.

I have a couple ideas for some actions, such as "put your palms together over your head and jump up and down," "Give the person to your right a noogie," Give the person to your left a hug," "put your arms satraight out and spin in a circle" and I'm most likely going to have one that is actually a complex sereis of instructions designed to simply confuse the reader.

BUT, I need about 17 more actions, and I figured, hey, what better people to ask for suggestions.

So, have at it.

Soooo...

The 28th of this month is my one year anniversary at PD.com, the worst forum on the internet. And the 31st of this month is my 29th birthday (marginally less exciting. Next year I start counting backwards).

And, well, I want to celebrate. For the spags in the general area that want to join the festivities get shitty drunk, The Paraplegics are playing the 24th at the Scurvy Dog (It's a daytime event, starting around oneish) and the 30th at Hell (regular showtime. Doors around 7-8).

These are just the events I'm obligated to attend, so if anyone wants to par-tay like it's on sale for 19.99, lemme know when you're gonna be around! We can go spag up the whole neighborhood, state, country, maybe even THE WORLD!! Mwahahahaha!!!

Ok, so a few years back a family moved in next door. They're your typical American Consumer type family, but they're generally pretty quiet and they keep to themselves alright, but, well, their kids...

See, these kids that these people have spawned are probably the most boring teenagers in the universe. At first, obviously, this didn't bother me. However, after the four-millionth time I watched them gleefully mow the lawn in one week, their enthusiasm for common lawn-care activities gets a little, we'll say, obnoxious.

And the overzealous landscaping is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

Three to four times a week, these kids just HAVE to wash their parents cars. As if this was the absolute BEST way to spend their summer. Again, this wasn't much of a problem. At first. Yes, these teens' inclination to live up to the "status quo" is annoying, but easily ignored. Even at four washings a week. However, their undying vigilance for detailing becomes VERY off-putting. For example, the power went out tonight, and instead calling it a night, they pulled one car in front of the other and turned on the headlights so they coud continue washing the car in the dark. IN THE DARK!! They dry the frikkin thing with a leaf-blower. A LEAF BLOWER!!!

These kids are also incredibly inconsiderate, in the sense that our county is currently conserving water, and there's one of those things going on where the even and odd numbered houses  alternate days on which they are allowed to use water for "non-essential" activities, such as watering your lawn, and washing your car. These kids don't pay any attention to this and, instead of shutting off the water in between spray-downs, they just spray the fucking water into the street while they soap up their precious (which isn't even theirs, technically). While we're conserving water.

Ok, before anyone jumps on me about "maybe they're doing it for allowance or something," don't. Any parent that insists that you wash the car four times a week in the fucking dark is a lunatic. Plus, just watching them, I can tell that they absolutely LIVE for it. They discuss at length propper technique, and congradulate each other on a job well done. This is not correct behaviour for teen-age boys. For crying out loud, DRINK A BEER OR SOMETHING! GET SOME PORN! SMOKE A FUCKING DOOBIE!!! JUST DO SOMETHING!!!!! Spraying water into the street is not the same calibur of "rebellious teenage behaviour" that kids participated in when I was a teenager.

Any way, I need to do something about this.

My first thought was, just as soon as they wash the car, I'll start mowing the lawn, successfully blowing dirt and dust onto their freshly cleansed ride. HOWEVER, I do NOT want to mow the fucking lawn four times a week. There must be something I can do to, if not get them to stop developing their OCD and anal-retentive habits, at least drive them mad... slowly.

I'm open to any ideas that won't get me arrested.

But there's noting I can do for you, I have my own problems ATM. They took my picture. Just TOOK it! Do you understand what that means?!? I don't either, but one thing's for sure, they have EVIDENCE now!! Oshit, someone's here. If I don't make it out of this alive, don't worry. The helmet filled wih cottage cheese is in the mail...

This reminded me of you.

I'm posting this with one of fancy new fandangled phone devices that can go on the line. THE FUTURE IS NOW! THE FUTURE IS MINE! Mwahaha!

...been busy with a bunch of shit, but I'm missing PD (similar to how one would miss a UTI or IBS). So, hallo to you. You know who you are.

Then SUBMIT...

...Material for the next issue of Intermittens!

Yeah, I suppose this should be in TFY,S but AT just gets all the traffic.

Theme: A "non-issue." What does that mean? Heck, I'm not entirely sure. So, I what I've decided on is a womens magazine parody. Pages and pages of "Ads," followed by the table of contents, followed by more "ads," peppered with a couple articles (and a few "ads" disguised as articles).

Things I am looking for: 1) Fake adverts. And LOTS of them. 2) Articles that can be assigned titles that sound like they should be on the cover of a womans magazine. (Ex. "How Good is Your Gasm?" "23 ways to drive them wild!" etc.). 3) Quick ten question quizzes (again, in the style of a womans magazine). And 4) this is the tricky one. Articles that are really fake ads posing as articles.

Submissions can be posted in here or you can PM them to me. Any submissions that make the cut will be attributed to you how you choose.
Questions, discussion and brainstorming can be done here, if you'd like.

Now, get out there and DO YOUR WORST!

Sorry to spag up the board, but this is just easier than PMing everyone back.

Thanks to Suu, I have received requests for CD's. For those of you who are interested, you can buy them here.

We're currently only accepting paypal orders, but if you want or need to use a different method, PM me and we'll see what we can do.

It's probably just me, I have been going through some intense shit lately and I am a bit on edge, but all these no0bs popping up lately, and most of them not doing stupid shit? C'MON GUYS! SAY SOMETHING FUCKED UP SO I HAVE AN EXCUSE TO POOMP ON YOU!!!!

As the closest thing to a patron st. of newbs, you would think that I'd have a certain degree of patience towards this influx of fresh meat, but WTF?! I'M ANGRY GRRRRRRR!!!!

FUCK YOU ALL, YOU PINEAL CUNTS!!! FUCK YUO!!!! AAAAARRRRGGGHH!!!!

Urge to kill fading...

So me and Roaring Biscuit have agreed on doing a double issue. The kind where you flip it over, and upside down to read another issue. We have chosen to coordinate our art-work to a degree. We also have some cool ideas concerning secret messages upside down (which will be right side up when held... umm... upside down) and a cool amalgamation of direction when you get to the center.

Because he and I are, technically, doing two seperate (but somewhat similar) issues, I'd like to keep both of our threads pinned, and use this one to discuss and plan the joint aspects of this DOUBLE sized issue.

"OK. Now open your eyes. That's it. Now look down. No, no, no. Keep you eyes open. You'll miss it all if they're closed. It's OK. Alright... Now let go."

"Let... go?"

"Let go."


It's like falling.

I can clearly see my feet planted firmly against the ground, but the sensation of falling...

It's exhilarating. The feeling of weightlessness.

It was scary, at first. You bet. You don't want to let go. You're afraid you'll hit the bottom. Hard.

But then you realize, if you keep your eyes open that is, that there isn't a bottom. It just keeps going.

Hell, I'm not even sure there's a top. Just the point at which you start falling. If you let go, that is.

Fuck, the concept of "top" and "bottom." It all gets to be sort of meaningless when you're falling.

Hell, we all could be falling up, as far as we know.

But what does it all mean? What's the point? All this perpetual falling nonsense.

Does there need to be one?

Just keep falling.

Exhilarating, isn't it?

...what ever happened to FP? Is he still here but with a different name? I'm starting to miss the little shit.

Every time I shave my junk, I think of you.

Is that bad?

So, I need a project for the summer to keep me out of trouble (see: spagging up the forums with nonsense) so I think I'm going to try my hand at an issue of Intermittens. I figure by doing an issue zero, other people can keep moving along with other numbered issues without having to wait for me to wrap this up. The theme is no theme (lame-o, I know but whatever) so just about anything goes. Now, because I've never really done this before, I may need a co-pilot, so if anyone's interested or has any ideas, lemme know!

(edited - remove sticky - Dok)

Uggh. LOST series finale was a LETDOWN! I swore of TV for a reason. This is what I get for giving it a chance. That's it. No following TV series' for me ever again. Dissapointing...

Ok, I've been dealing with an "issue" for some time now, and I've not been able to come to any thing that could be considered an agreeable solution. Catch 22 style. Damned if you do, damned if you blah blah blah. It's at a point where I feel a decision needs to be made before it becomes an even more fucked up situation, so instead of flipping a coin or trying to pick the lesser of two evils, I'm giving it up to Eris. So. Ummm. Go.

If you don't mind...

I'm not a complete moron, after all! I currently have a cumulative GPA of 3.57! Now, only if my brit. lit. teacher wasn't a complete retard, I'd have at least a few more points.

Regardless! Let's celebrate!!!!!!

You called (him) a heathen. And a pervert. And an outright asshole.
You said, "How can someone as smart as (you) think these things?"
And (he) told you about how those who believed the Earth to be flat, and how they ridiculed, then murdered those that claimed it to be spherical.
You said, "Whatever..."

Then, well, the shit hit the fan, hard and fast, as it often does. There were madmen with guns (they may have been called "the police," they may have been called your ex-boyfriend. The details are unimportant). At this point, (he), the perverted heathen asshole, put (himself) in the center of the swirling shit-storm. (He) lowered (his) voice, and touched the center of the tornado, and soon it was gone. Silence in the dark.

You held on to (him) and said, in hushed tones, "Thank (you) for all you've done. But I'm still scared."

(He) held tighter, and whispered back, "You don't have to be. Not right now." The heathen, the pervert, the asshole. "This is what the real good-guys look like."

And she said, "Save me. At least for the night." And (he) did. Many times over, and over.

And in the morning (he) was gone...

I wanted a turn, too. So... Um... Well, this was pretty awkward...

I've gone Ga Ga!

I fought it as long as I could, but I couldn't resist it any longer. Now I'm telling my friends to show me thier teeth and to stop telephonin' me. Now my female friends can't get enough of me and my slick dance moves.

And the Zalgo cover on the Fame Monster is pretty badass.