fantastic that you should find yourself here. im here, you're here. please feel free to 'perooze' this here stuff. its full of fantat. check it out. and i hope afterwards, you realize, that, ive touched you deep in your heart. and that ive touched your moms, deep in their pants.


fortune 489

in a world filled with nursery school- targeted marauder bombings, childs being used as tumble dryer filler, and various other non-safe child aimed events, it amuses to see the useless measures that society employs to keep the minds of our future-adults safe.

now, im all for keeping extreme violence from the eyes and hands of todays youth, be it films or videogames, the cutlery aisle at your local walmart or even germ-killing household products. however there is a line. on one side you have the efforts that are seen to make a difference, such as the above. however on the other side you have the less useful, efforts made to 'safeguard' the youngs. and a couple of these i will outline below.

lesson a. during my childhood i was in much enjoyment of many board games. from the plastic people of the game of life to the pink moneys of monopoly. however, none could compare to the joys and misty wonder that was brought about by a good game of snakes and ladders. rolling that dice, not knowing if i would climb the ladders or whether my fates lied within the belly of the serpant. i would sigh with relief at a close escape, shake my fist with anger when devoured by the evils, or smile with glory as i ascended those golden ladders. recently, i decided to rekindle the above emotions, with a friendly game of snakes and ladders. i walked into the local toymart and looked far and hard for the beloved game, but to no avail. my heart raced at the thought of the classic wonder never being held in my hands again. from aisle to aisle i searched and finally found a trusty shopkeep. i grabbed him and looked into his eyes. fear struck him as my tongue ran nonsensicle words. i slowed. i asked him if he had what i so desperately searched. his eyes gleamed with recognition of my description. he led to me to the very aisle i had so frantically searched only moments before. i reached down and pulled out a primary coloured box. he flipped it around and handed it to me, smiled and walked off. i looked down. could it be? was my panic all for nothing? my eyes danced over the precious box, children playing the much heralded game decorated the cover. the name written in so much glee. chutes and ladders. i laughed at the joke the clerk played on me. but then as i searched the shelves for the real thing, it dawned on me that this was no joke. the feared snakes were gone, only the slick chutes remained. i collapsed in a fury of tears.

the whole point of the game was that the snakes were to be feared. no one wanted to land on a snake in fear of their mighty forked tongues, their fangs of danger and their grasps of peril. sadly for milton bradley and other such board game companies, no one fears a chute. a chute is little more than a playground slide, or an extremely large drinking straw. bring back the snakes, bring back the undie-soiling fear. stop the violent video game sales to minors, dont stop the serpant.

lesson b. in a world filled with a green ooze, katana blades, pepperoni and bandanas, the teenage mutant ninja turtles were the kings. living large in the depths of the sewers, having mondo-parties, pizza-fests and the usual clobbering of the foot clan ninjas. when i was first made aware of these fabulous creatures, i was cautious. could turtles really be ninjas? of course, it was the ninja that really captivated me and drew me in. the jumpkicks, the secret codes, the mystery. nothing could come close in measures of coolness. the ninja turtles were the gods of my time.
after a seven hour flight and many foil packets of peanuts later, i found myself afoot in my homeland of the englands, without my collections of ninja turtle toys at hand. what a blessed place. newspaper wrapped fish & chips, fog, tall hats and biscuits, only some of the wicked inhabitants of this marvelous island.

on a routine shopping trip with my british/indian aunt i found what would forever be the ultimate dismay in my life. we happened upon the local everything-mart and of course i ran to the toy aisles as fast as my little legs could carry me, dodging people left and right, not heeding the backwards laws of englands traffic system. finally i found what i wanted, rows upon rows of action figures. the doors of childhood heaven had opened to me and i was about to step into its eternal plastic wonders. i crossed the threshold. i looked up and around. it was beautiful. so much colour, so much weapons, so much rapid-fire action. i hopped with so much glee as i surveyed the goods. then out of the corner of my eye i saw what i hoped for. the green, the shells, the turtles. they had my beloved ninja turtles in england. i would not be alone for this trip. i reached up and pulled down a michealangelo figure. that grin painted on his face was filled with mischief. oh mike, you rascal you. they were all here; leo, don, raph, mike, splinter, all of them. i pulled down one of each, along with a few henchman of the foot persuasion, and i was off to make my aunt purchase them.

but something was wrong. something was amiss. why did i not feel the warmth in my arms that was so familiar to me? i looked down at the card and plastic in my hands and tried to piece together the problem. at first it was not apparent, but then i saw that these werent ninja turtles at all. no, not ninjas, but heroes. thats right, these were the teenage mutant hero turtles. the land of eng had stripped away all that made these mutant creatures so great. without their ninja, they would be free to exercise any form of fighting, thus making them no longer ninjas. which, in turn would make them no longer anything but cheap plastic nothings.
why would they do this? i have since heard that it was because of bad british-japanese relations that they decided to use 'hero' instead of 'ninja', but i dismiss this like so many classes at 3pm. its an aim at less violence. heroes instead of ninjas. yet another way to soften things to the children. no, dont pull realistic toy guns from the shelves, instead label the turtles as heroes as opposed to the ninjas they were born to be. becuase ninjas are violent and heroes, of course, are not. sorry britain, you've lost a loyal customer.

what will be next? will batman become 'slightly-angry-night-bird man'?

its obvious that the direction the world is headed in, is ugly.


kids beware.

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you know who must have the best life (lives)?

the price is right models. im pretty sure they live at the show.


im sitting on my cat

i think that in all fairness, and to make the world a more better place certain things need to change. nothing drastic like removing bacon from the food-marts, but something simple that you wouldnt notice outright.

i think really good-looking people should deliver the bad news, and really unattractive people should offer the good news. this way its all balanced out, and no one leaves the party upset.


running brown man = somewhere there's a sale.

hello electric people,

its funny how we, as people, never appreciate things until they're gone. for example, the other day i was in a building. it was a rather tall one, and my business was at the top of said building. so, i went the the elevator area and pushed the 'up' button. i waited........(these dots represent my wait).............the elevator never came. i took the stairs. id always taken elevators for granted. those shiny doors would always open and reveal the warm riding room. and so, i never appreciated it, until it was unavailable. from now on, ill appreciate things in their daily use. never again will pavement, sandy beaches, toilet paper, mini-tape-recorders and portugese villain monkeys go unvalued.



vampires? vanpiles? piles of vans?

it was once said, that all stupidity comes from within. and that said stupidity will explode many people into many bits. i wait for said explosions.

it has been quite the while. there have been many adventures of late, and many of these adventures involve a desk, a headset, and complaining customers. nothing to shake a stick at, or stab a stick at. but i suppose that these adventures have made me the person that i am today. a person-hating person. however, not unjustly so. there are much people that deserve dislike and much fires should be put on them.

we'll start with the most recent.

it was a quiet evening in my abode. music was gently playing, the cat was running from place to place, the toilet was clean and the warm smells of cooking we abound. i turned on the tele-boxatron and was so suddenly facially raped by the utter wet-trash that came from the glowing glass. what are these black peas with eyes? what are they i say? the make noise of obscene natures and they jump around as if possible mates are in the vicinity. sorry people, that is not dancing. how many times can i 'get retarded in here'? or 'get it started in here'? i think its time for a new song peas. who signed these people? what pushed them to do it? was and is it some part of a larger scheme? a scheme of world domination. those who signed them wish to rule the world, but first, they must annoy the population into submission. thats it. and now that we know their plan, we can thwart it with all the might of thor's hammer.


as four pm strolls around the clock face, you decide, hey, its been a while, let me sit at the telee, and watch a good ol' afterschool special. you know, the ones where little girls and little boys are taught the difference between good and bad vegetables, good and bad touching, good and bad audio equipment. so you get your gelatin snack all ready and you sit yourself in the corner of your couch. curled up, with your ninja turtles blankie. you flick it over to the write channel, with full expectations of seeing your typical white, suburban family backing out of their driveway in their white SUV etc etc. but no. instead, you're treated to a woman, who brings you the story of two little siamese babies, and they're harrowing adventure through many woods to make it to the only doctor in all of the lands. something like that. accompanying that tale, the host also brings you exclusive interviews, with our hottest celebrities. from the intensity of it, it would seem that this woman-host created these celebrities and did the surgeries on the glued-babies. but no, oprah winfrey did none of these things. in fact all she does do is, be annoying, act like she's the queen of entertainment and shake her triceps at us. granted she does do nice things for charity. but she finds it necessary to tell the world about it, and every other detail of her fabulous life. oprah=boring. if you love her, well then im sorry. but many fires need to be put on all of you.

and finally today.

why do people worship celebrities? it was being on the telee, that jay leno show. and the magic dana carvey come upon the stage. there was the obligatory clapping, which at this point is much more than standard. but then he decided to do some push ups. why, i dont know. but whatever. at this point, the crowd erupted into appluase and whistles and woos. why? why would that warrant a better reaction? it was four push ups. does that show you that he has become amazingly fit? has he overcome some terrible malady? no. we much stop the madness. there are people who have dedicated their entire careers to the celebration of celebrities. how sad is that? why dont people celebrate mailmen? or the outsourced-to-india-computer-tech-support-representative?

it seems there will never be a shortage of things that suck. salut.


ill start with smokes, to get cool

i hope that christmas is happy in your hearts. here is my present to you all.

last night i had the pleasure of being invite to some friends' house. to watch his christmas tree lose its needles, watch some tv, watch some movie, and drink some pop. and this we did. knowing of the secret sci-fi fantasies that live deep within my secrets, my friend pointed out the movie marathon they had on a particular science fiction channel. my eyes lit up and were subject to the bad special effects, acting and story that is Lost In Space, the most recent production of it.

throughout the years that hollywood and movie production have been around, one thing has remained a constant. no matter how good the movie is, no matter how good the action, acting, special effects, underlying plot twists, character and story development are - some faggot kid is going to do something to ruin it.

in the case of Lost In Space, the son of the captain teaches a robot to understand friendship and love, in a matter of on screen seconds. first of all, thats impossible because robots dont even like people to begin with, and secondly who would like a retard kid like that in the first place.

look around you, look at the movies on the shelf. how many of these would-be good films were ruined, toileted because some director thought he would appeal to the younger crowd or the paternal sides of people.

'yeah that movie was so awesome. it was so cool how that kid saved the place from being blown up. who woulda thought that the kid would talk the terrorists down.'

i sick of kids saving shit.

here is a little script i wrote that would be a better ending to these sorts of films. the original ending would be this. the child finds his real dad with the help of his adopted dad. but the real one is the criminal that the adopting dad has been chasing for years. the real dad is a wanted international terrorist. and now there is a standoff between the two fathers. gun to gun. the child, crying, manages to talk his real dad out of killing his adopted dad, and then there is mild crying on the real dads part and they walk off hand-in-hand, into the sunset.

here is the modified version.

Real Dad: so thomas, you finally found me.
Adopted Dad: yes, and now we must fight to the death.
Child: Dad, its me, your real son. i finally found you.
RD: son? it cant be.
AD: its true, he is your son. but i raised him like he was my own.

as child runs up to his real dad, he trips on a rock and falls. real dad uses this as a prime opportunity to gain the upper hand. he shoots the gun out of adopted dads hand. child gets up and sees what has happened. he stands between them now. real dad stands about15 feet from adopted dad and has his gun leveled with adopted dads forehead. he cocks the hammer. the child screams out and is silenced by the bullet that blows his face off. then the head of adopted dad suddenly disappears into a fine red mist, and some pulpy mess.

note to directors: no ones likes it when kids save the day. kids should only be in movies as A) car accident victims. B) sweatshop workers. C) test subjects for various mutant-drug projects.

the only cool kids in movies EVER. were the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles in my homeland.