7.24.2006

Wicka-wicka-what?

As I said in a previous post, I had more to say but would save it for another day. A day when I had not-so-much to say already. Well, despite the fact that that's been almost every day since, I haven't gotten around to posting what I wanted to. Until now. Not so much because I was suddenly driven to post, since only two people still read this occaisionally (quite possibly both being myself), but because what I was gonna post about came up again in dramatic fashion. I would have it no other way.
My post was going to be a sort-of response kind of post, in regards to a certain young lady's post from ... well, I think it was like a month ago now. Man. Time flies when you're not posting. Anyway, as you can see from this post, the question stated is what kind of superhero/villain you'd be. Ah, yes, the age-old question.
I have an answer. A finely tuned answer, no less. Almost year and a half ago, I asked everyone at work this very question: If you were superhuman, what would your powers be, and what would your super weapon be? I allowed two powers. There was another stipulation, but I can't remember what it was. Anyway, two powers, a weapon, and a cause.
But I didn't stop there. No no no, that would have been making just casual conversation. I took everyone's supercharacter and I made them duke it out. We created drawn-out scenarios of what would happen if they found themselves at odds with eachother. And you know what I noticed? The quiet people I work with really really get into defending themselves when they have superpowers that don't exist. I mean, they're out for blood. Seriously.
You might call me a huge nerd, but I ask you this: How many times have you gotten paid for demanding that two people pick superpowers, and then make up battle sequences? I even went as far as to involve my favorite customers in on this. And one of them, I kid you not, was a sixty-some-odd cancer-surviving stroke victim who moved really, really slow and refused to wear three piece suits even though I assured him it'd help his chances with the ladies. True story.
I digress.
The powers I chose were the ability to control/manipulate (but not create) water, and super speed. I know everyone picks flying first, but think about it. With super speed you can probably run on water, and when that fails, just freeze a cloud or two to run on. Plus, there's almost always enough moisture in the air to consolidate into an icy step (I would imagine. Haven't acutally tested this theory). I would just have to be very nimble so as not to super-slip. And with people being composed of 75% water, Guess what? Oh, forgot my change, waitress? How's it feel to be 75% boiling? Hey, Bowling alley guy, wrong size shoes. Hope you don't fall over and shatter now that you're 75% ice. Biatch. I'm out.
Now the creme de la creme, as it were: my super-weapon. My super-weapon is super-awesome. I'm sure you'll concur. I chose a United States government-issued one hundred dollar bill mint press, complete with inks and that funky fibery paper stuff they use for bills. In my downtime, I print off whatever money I need. Enemies approach? Enemies not composed of water? (I'm certain my archnemesis would be a master robot-builder) Well then, Guess I'll just have to super-smash his face in with the one hundred dollar bill mint press plates! Heck yes they're heavy-duty. Now that's a weapon. Why not a thousand dollar bill press? Or a million-dollar bill press? Because I'm not all shallow and greedy like all you people. Shame.

7.07.2006

Suspend this.

I can now officially say I have "assumed the position" and been patted down by a cop, put in the back of the police car, and forced to watch through a handleless plastic shielded back seat while an officer went through my car. And if you ask Doug, that's like everything I own. And why, might you ask? What horrible crime did I commit, perhaps what reckless maneuver did I perform on the road to receive such treatment? Truth is, I have no idea. Apparently, without running things by me, my liscense was suspended back in January. There was no reason given as to why this happened (Thank goodness police computers are so thourough so as to never make a false arrest.). The officer was nice enough to let me read over my very bruised and battered driving record through the heavily scratched plastic death shield. But then, I guess any woman would have to treat me with some respect after having grabbed my junk with both hands looking for a "gun." And now tomorrow, I have to find a way to the Secretary of State's office to get this all straightened out, as if I somehow did something wrong on a day that I wasn't driving and quite literally wasn't even in the state. yay. yay for police officers. yay.
I'll give a thousand dollars to whoever wants to be my cheauffer. Doug, you don't count. You're not even real. See previous post. I'm out.

7.06.2006

Batteries. Fine.

I'll do it. I seriously hate all you people (the none of you that read this at any point) for making me go through this, but I'm going to buy batteries.

Why the crap did I ever think "wireless keyboard" meant "ultracoolfuntimes." I mean, the novelty would be when I take it into the bathroom with me. But unless I rig up a whole bunch of mirrors and leave every door open (like in a certain someone's house, but I'm not naming names. We'll call her S. Schlatter. Wait, no, too obvious; refer to her as Shannon S.), that whole idea isn't exactly feasible. So the fun has been melted down to "Hey, moron. Go get me some more batteries."

Whatever you say, keyboard. Whatever you say.

Anyway, I'm writing this from work, where we happen to sell batteries. (I know, I know, I can hear you all as you tilt your head and sigh in disbelief. I could have gotten batteries on my way out of work on any of the 50 days I've been here since they died. Shut up.) And when I leave here today I'll be out a few bucks and up four AA's. I'm doing this mostly to get the website back up, the one that I've told no one about since my batteries died just as it was all coming together. I'm lame. I know. My recent absence from the Amazing World Wide Intracon Webnetlink has led me to realize a few key things:
1) I do miss the occaisional video game. I feel like a monkey who just hasn't thrown poop in 7 weeks. It's not like I have to, but those darn tourists are gettin' off too easy.
2) There's a lot of people who only keep in touch based on your availability online. I think I might be one of them. I'm horrible at keeping in touch with anyone. Heck, I live with my brother and he had to call me this afternoon just to see how things were. How lame is that? And when you remove a huge point of person-to-person access, I kinda dry up and get all disconnected and stuff. Kinda like a brain out of the skull. Just kinda shrivels and what not.
3) Facebook and MySpace are still not at all interesting, even after having gone 7 weeks without them. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder; in their case, absence makes the 15 year old girls stop spamming me with invites to look at her other online journals.
4) Doug isn't acutally real. Kristi hired an Asian violinist/actor/powerlifter to show up to Dan's party, and then saw to it that he was rehired to play at Michelle's wedding 5 months later. I give her credit, though, she knows how to keep a prank running.
5) I hate my phone. I seriously do. I thought buying a new pretty one would help, and when that didn't work I got a Van Gogh background for it. I then proceeded to get Pacman's theme song to play when someone sends me a text message. I guess it's fitting that the only thing I like is the text message part; not only do I get Pacman, but it's quick and to the point.
6) I pay too much for internet. Correction: I'm going to pay too much for internet. Once this little introductory offer is over, I'm not sure if I even want it anymore. Luckily I have a roommate who will. Otherwise, you'd never hear from me again it seems.
7) I have no idea what to put here. What is it that drives us to fill a list up to the magical number "10"? It's not like we get a prize for the most well-rounded list or anything. And if we are supposed to, I'd like to talk to whoever gives those out, because I'm kinda owed a few. Thousand.
8) 9) 10) Make that one more prize, punk. Out of spite.

I think I'm going to save my last thoughts for a new post. And I'll give you ten reasons why:

1) Shut up.
2) Shut up.
3) Shut up.
4) Shut up.
5) Shut up.
6) Shut up.
7) Shut up.
8) Shut up.
9) Because Shannon is probably the only one who would care anyway, and we all know that:
a) she hates me, and
b) she stopped reading this like ten years ago, when the first of the batteries died.
10) Shut up.

Item nine, being two-fold, made this ten-fold list, in all actuality, 11-fold. Here's to you, Olde English