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The Robbery

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Ok, I need to write this down as quickly as I can.  I just woke up from a dream where, Kris, me, and Lauren were all wandering around the strip in Vegas.  We're all having a good time, and as we're walking, we come across a crowded pawn shop that sells nothing but guns, ammo, and hummel figures.  Kris and Lauren both turn to me and convince me that we should go shooting at the range, and that we should pick up some guns and ammo from the pawn shop.  I agree, and the three of us walk into the store and find that it's shoulder-to-shoulder-packed with people. 

As we inch through the store, people are asking to look at guns at one counter, and asking for boxes of ammo at the next.  I can hear clerks telling customers what guns are just available for show, and which guns they have ready then and there.  Kris and Lauren finally get their turn to speak to the clerk who's in charge of the gun counter.  Kris picked out a 1911, Lauren picked out a .45 ACP revolver.  I opt not to pick up a gun, and instead decide to just get some ammo for my Sig, which is apparently back at the hotel room. 

We get up to the ammo counter, and ask for boxes of our various calibers of ammo.  As we're looking through the box, making sure it's the right kind of ammo, Kris turns to me and says, "Hey Chan, we're gonna rob this gun store, you in!?"  Stunned, I turn to Lauren, who's bright with excitement and nodding her head at me.  I of course, I decide you guys must be joking, and say, "Ha!  Yeah sure, right."  Suddenly Kris becomes very serious, and says, "No seriously, we're robbing this place with these guns... are you in or out?..."  Dumbfounded, I look at Lauren, and she's equally serious, and loading rounds into her revolver. 

"What?  Are you fucking crazy?!", I quizzically scream, "This is a goddamn gun shop, you'll be lucky if they don't just shoot you out-right! This is LITERALLY the worst idea you've ever had Kris, what the fuck are you guys thinking?"

Kris replied, "Alright then, just Lauren and me are going to spend the money from this robbery at Slots-o-fun!  Time for some nickel slots!"

Kris, firing rounds into the ceiling, "This is a ROBBERY!!!"

The whole store instantly clears out with the exception of the clerks working the counters.  Panicked, I run into the back room of the shop, where Dave, the clerk who sells the hummel figures, is standing.

"Oh I'll fuckin' shoot them, I'm just gonna shoot them through the window!"  Dave exclaimed as he loaded his pump-action shotgun.

I hastily react, "No!  Please don't!  Listen, I know what they're doing is the worst idea they've ever had, and I can't even begin to explain why the two of them would decide to rob a gun shop on the Vegas strip in the middle of the day, using guns they got at this store, so that they can spend the money ACROSS THE STREET AT SLOTS-O-FUN!  I know what they're doing is completely insane, and I really don't know why they're doing this, but trust me, they're good people, they're just retarded right now."

I turn from the clerk, and see that Kris is now holding a burlap sack with a dollar sign on it, as well as holding the door open for Lauren, with his back turned to the ammo-counter clerk, who is rapidly loading shells into a sawed-off shotgun.  I run to try and stop the ammo-clerk from shooting, but I'm too late.  A blast rings out as the clerk fires through his store-front at Kris, the shot barely nicks him the shoulder and thigh.  Kris keeps running with Lauren pulling him along.  After managing to get across the street, headed for the doors of Slots-o-fun, six police cars pull up.  A dozen police officers rush out of their cars and tackle Kris and Lauren, who struggle despite their horrendous odds of escape.  The police officers have Kris and Lauren handcuffed and shackled with at least three pairs of handcuffs and six pairs of leg irons each.  Despite these restraints, Kris and Lauren still resist arrest the way guests on Jerry Springer fight the body guards.  The two of them are literally completely lifted off the ground, the chains from their leg irons drag along the sidewalk and bang together noisily as they continue to struggle.  The SWAT team eventually shows up with a large metal restraint system that looks like a door frame with loops all around it.  The cops secure Kris and Lauren to the restraint, at which point Kris and Lauren calm down.

Kris manages to get one hand free, to pull out his cell phone and dials a number.

"Hi mom... yeah umm... I'm gonna be goin' away for a while....... yeah... yeah I went through with it... no, it didn't work."

Stricken with panic, knowing that my two best friends are about to go to prison for a very long time, I scream to myself that I must be dreaming.

I wake up.

Success!

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I think this sums up how I feel right now

ObamaComboBreaker.jpg

These are some brilliant videos of Mike Rowe (Of Dirty Jobs fame), as a salesman for QVC.

Animated Love


Seagull Bracelet


Lava Lamp


Precious Moments


Katsak Cat Toy


Cherub statues

Nighttime rambling

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I wrote the following late at night sometime last week in a notebook on my desk.

So I've come to realize something about the way my brain works.  It seems that the best ideas I have come right before I go to bed.  It's as if my brain decides it needs to meet my creative demands before it becomes a hostage to my subconscious, and it's forced to develop Stockholm syndrome for the sake of producing, writing, and directing yet another dream about me having to defeat my college landlord in another arm wrestling/go kart construction competition.

There are times where I worry that all these years of sleep deprivation took their toll and damaged my creative sense beyond repair.  But, this depresses me, so I just choose to distract myself with thoughts of chimps fighting ducks in a kiddie pool, and images of Al Roker fighting Gary Coleman and the cast of Cats in a battle royale for control of a Japanese powdered-donut concern.  And while this thought doesn't make sense, I accept its effectiveness as a mental flashbang.


Why am I so worried?  Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but maybe that's the point!  I spent so many years working to accept the fact that I don't qualify as "normal", that now that my life has gained a great deal of stability, I've become the proverbial caveman introduced into the modern world, adorned with warm pants but hesitant none-the-less.

I'm sure I could drive myself crazy thinking about this stuff, assuming that I haven't already.  But how would I know?  What constitutes a fair sanity litmus test?  Three-thousand years ago a lot of people would have said that believing a dog-headed-being controls the world you live in after you die, and believing this is normal, and believing anything else makes you a cultish nut job.  Nowadays they say that the son of a carpenter and a married virgin woman was born in a barn in Bethlehem in the year zero, and not only was he God, but he was also simultaneously the son of God, and that God has no beginning or end... believing this makes you normal...

Normal or sane, I can't be both!

So your internet connection has been flaky lately, perhaps this troubleshooting guide from AT&T will help solve your modem problems which could include any of the following:

  • Modem is smoking.
  • Modem is making a loud humming noise.
  • Modem is smashed into bits and pieces.
  • Modem is melted and misshapen.
  • Modem rattles inside when shaken.
  • But what if my modem is currently engulfed in flames?  Is that how it's supposed to be?  Damn this insufficient guide!
    I love John Hodgman, he's an expert at sounding like an expert on anything.




    He also has a new book out called More Information Than You Require
    This political season has been pretty harsh.  The past few days I've spent time around a number of McCain/Palin supporters and it hasn't been pretty.  My parents and a few of my friends are among the ranks of people I have argued with, and my efforts have been largely futile.  Listening to my parents argue politics is like watching a crazed homeless man scream at squirrels, it's funny at first, nothing of value is stated, and everyone feels a little more uncomfortable the longer it goes on.

    I normally enjoy debating with people whose opinion differs from mine, but arguing with my parents about politics generally ends with my dad yelling about how he doesn't trust Obama because he thinks he's a terrorist, and my mom claiming that because Obama's half-black we can't guarantee where his loyalties are.  Those of you who know me should see the irony in this, since my parents are an interracial couple.  It's as if the two of them refuse to believe that they can relate to their own lifestyle.  It's like a black man joining the KKK, a member of PETA working for a slaughterhouse, or John McCain doing charity work for an anti infant-cannibalism consortium.

    The scales of slander have been leaning too far in the GOPs favor, so I'm glad that Larry Flint has decided to produce a porno starring a Sarah Palin look-alike to help even up the score.  Here's the first minute of it (SFW). 



    Tasteful?  No.  Necessary?  Absolutely.  I figure if you're gonna go low in attacking McCain and Palin, you might as well go this low.  Why not portray Palin having sex with two men who have horrendously fake Russian accents, under circumstances that were clearly written by a fraternity that was midway through another homosexual-thought-suppressing chug-a-thon.  God knows the Republicans aren't going to play fair with this election, I'm glad to see that Larry Flint is playing their game so that I don't have to.

    The Smell of Space

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    Steven Pearce, a chemist and managing director of fragrance manufacturing company Omega Ingredients has been commissioned by NASA to recreate the smell of space for astronauts in training.  What does space smell like?  Well astronauts claim that it's like "fried steak, hot metal and welding a motorbike".

    I'm sure there's a very scientific reason behind this bizarre combination of scents that are wafting through our galaxy, but I'd like to take the creationist approach and explain it this way: 

    God is James Dean and he's riding a motorcycle while holding a blazing hot cast iron pan full of brisket, and he's dragging a running arc welder behind him. - Rev. 23:1

    These are the words of the lord.

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