I've been sitting at this damn desk for the past two hours, looking into my monitor and staring at the phrase "JOHN CARMACK - the automobile industry." Last night, I typed that string of words into my notetaking program, which is where I store the shorthand version of my absolutely fantastic ideas that I don't want to risk forgetting. I can usually decipher these vague memos and start working on them the next day, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what the hell "JOHN CARMACK - the automobile industry" means. Is it some kind of code? Did I have an idea about putting minivans into Doom 3? What on Earth does John Carmack have to do with the automobile industry (besides his well-documented love for cars which cost roughly 9,000,000 times the value of my soul)? I am not sure, but after leafing through the shorthand list of all my other "ideas", I'm really beginning to worry about my sanity. Look at this crap I have written down:
Muppets head on crotches(?)Prank fishemm out 6-10COOKING!!!
That last item is particularly disturbing, because the last place I need to be is in a kitchen with access to electricity. There are only two food dishes which I have the skill to prepare for myself, and both of them involve "placing item onto bread and eating." Everything else I eat comes in a box and goes immediately into the microwave until it (either the microwave or the food) starts beeping. Back in college, when I actually had enough time to do things such as sabotage my roommate's guitar amp by pouring water into it every time he left for class, I tried cooking. I really, really tried. However, the results were less than satisfying.
TARGET FOOD: Frozen Hash Browns.
RESULT: Hash browns somehow turned into what I called the "Sweaty Bird's Nest of Failure." The outside was really brown, the inside was really white, and cooking oil dripped off it in blobs large enough to lubricate industrial pistons. Somehow all the potatoes, instead of acting like the friendly hash browns at IHOP which can be separated into individual slices of potato, welded themselves together to form the Sweaty Bird's Nest of Failure, which was so congealed and impenetrable that it could deflect pistol fire.
HOW IT WAS DISPOSED OF: Hid it in my next door neighbor's closet. Occasionally I would stop by, make comments like, "Jeez, you smell like SHIT!" and walk away, but I couldn't do it too often or he would've suspected sabotage.
TARGET FOOD: Ravioli.
RESULT: Stove caught fire and I shrieked like a retarded schoolgirl until somebody dumped 20 pounds of baking soda onto the stove. The odd part was that I was simply boiling water when the stove caught fire. I still can't figure out how I managed to burn the stove while boiling water, but it happened regardless.
HOW IT WAS DISPOSED OF: Since I didn't dare boil another pot of water (under the Fire Marshall's explicit orders), I put the ravioli back in my freezer, where it resided until the day before I moved out of the dorm. I believe that was the year one of my friends and I held a "Farewell to Food" celebration and threw it out the fourth story window of our dorm.TARGET FOOD: Steak
RESULT: Don't ask. Let's just say that people who can't successfully boil a pot of water shouldn't be allowed within a 50-mile radius of uncooked beef. I think everybody in my dorm can vouch for that.
HOW IT WAS DISPOSED OF: Both the steak and the frying pan, which was damaged beyond repair, were given a burial at sea (a large fountain) and a 21-gun salute.
You'll notice that I didn't mention any cooking in my apartments, where I have been leaving since my last year of college (1998). This is because in my apartment, I am liable for property damage. I'm not stupid; my stove is off and it will stay off until the day I die (which, coincidentally, will probably be the day I try to cook something).
Of course this infinitely amusing and insightful look into my colorful life has yielded absolutely zero information regarding the enigmatic "JOHN CARMACK - the automobile industry" phrase, but I would imagine it at least explains why I have such a hard time figuring out my own writing.
Today is a date which shall go down in history. A day which shall redefine how future generations look upon the year 2000. A moment in time that brings together the young, the elderly, blacks, whites, pregnant women, and women who are real fat but look pregnant and when you ask them when they're due they make a facial expression at you like they just realized your photo from "America's Most Wanted" as the guy who was caught stealing women's underwear and Scotch taping them to his face. Yes, I am of course referring to the launch of:
Yes, here it is in all its glory. The Something Awful music video, "Deviation", which was the result of me sitting in a room with a bunch of poorly marked video tapes containing all kinds of worthless and semi-worthless crap. This music video is actually just a big montage of random movie clips, commercials from the mid 1900's, and atomic bomb / explosion footage with an EXCLUSIVE ARC music track over it! Yes, a previously unreleased musical gem from everybody's favorite industrial / techno band, ARC! Oh hooray! Sure the video is 32 megs, but it's 32 megs of PURE JOY. I don't like to make outlandish claims, but this downloading and watching this movie will cure EVERY problem in your life. What are you waiting for? Start downloading now, before it's too late (ie, you die... or something even worse).
Cliff Yablonski, ever alert in his professional job of "being old", has graced my presence with another one of his deep and thoughtful email messages. I am truly a lucky humanoid.
From: cliff yablonski
Subject: shove it
five new pages of people I hate. send me a picture of your ugly mug so I can add it.
post my news and I wont beat you as hard this time.
I'm a little sentimental right now, folks... please give me a moment to compose myself. In the meantime, check out Cliff Yablonski's site which shows off five new pages of people he just can't stand, a good portion of which appear to be goths.
Chemical Engineerer Operator Technician Barbara Santa: I resented this project from the start. I don't even understand the point, when Bob first showed me the blueprints he was ecstatic and extensively intoxicated with vast amounts of cocaine and Melodramatic Teen soap operas. He just said, " I am going to create a God of Gods, a machine of machines, Sarah, I am going to create a brick," And immediately locked himself inside the lunchroom with Mike Salmon for a week. I don't even know how he survived for so long, the only things we had in there was a half full bottle of almond milk, a large chunk of rotten goat cheese and a bottle of bleach. We tried reasoning with him, but whenever confronted he would just turn up the volume on the television so all we could hear was the Dawson's Creek Theme song.
Many great testers died during the testing of brick, here we leave you with the last picture ever taken of Larry Harmonica, a loyal brick tester, who sadly died during the testing of Brick's aerodynamic and smashing-it-in-your-goddamn-face capabilities evaluation.
They have BRICK! What else is there to say, except BRICK? BRICK!!!
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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