Thursday, May 06, 2004
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
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Monday, April 26, 2004
Its over. The end is near. At lesat for me. I can't take it anymore in here. Dixon is a fucking moron. Mitch is really testing the limits of our friendships. I miss my girlfriend. I need to get laid. I hate all my iPOD songs. Our computer only works on even numbered days. This is ridiculous. I am going to head out to the woods. Hopefully I can make it to the authorities hiding in the woods. After I post this I'm going upstairs and I'm going to javelin as many motherf@*kers as I can. Clear a path. I am like Jay-Z. Retiring from the game. But not quite.
Monday, April 19, 2004
Dear friends, it has been awhile since last we communicated, and I wish to apologise for my delayed correspondence, As you can see from Roy's and Mr. Langham's previous posts, there has been some, shall we euphemistically say, drama. Even a studied academic such as myself, has fallen prey to the cruel dictates of animal nature. I can only say that I am shamed and horrified by the sad situation in which I now find myself.
I can see all too clearly the war waged upon our very humanity, by the stress of our rather isolated situation. Indeed, even after careful reflection, I must admit that I am without the requisite faculties to comprehend just how things have deteriorated so rapidly. I am not a cruel man, and most certainly I am not "vain", "callow", "prissy", "fagged up fifteen ways from Tuesday", "congenitally shitbrained", nor even, as Mr. Langham so colorfully added, after what I thought was the end of his rather profane display, "Fucking ass dicking cockchoked". Shocking really that such dreadful things have been said after what seemed so promising a situation.
I'm afraid that the theatre of the absurd to which you, the humble readers, have been treated is in fact the truth. I have been soundly thrashed, and quite undeservedly so. Allow me for a moment to explain things from my own perspective, in the hope that youÕll reconsider any negative opinions you might have developed as a result of Mr. LanghamÕs recent screed.
Last weekend, during our long lull and after the computer crashed, I diligently continued my research. During this time, late one night whilst I was compiling my notes for publication here on this blog, Mr. Langham unexpectedly came looking for me. He began by speaking to me rather indirectly, more with confused hostility and an unclear tone than a specific mission. I have to admit I became slightly uncomfortable by the whole affair, particularly the aggressive way in which he kept touching my arms, running his hands up and down the length of them, asking me just who I thought I was. When I protested his entrance to my small and private quarters, not to mention his bizarre invasion of my personal space, he flew into a bizarre tantrum. I regret to tell you all that as a result of this event, my research has been set back several days.
You see, when Mr. Langham embarked upon his me-directed late night outburst, he grabbed the notebook from my hands, and before I could but protest, he ripped my carefully constructed research notes into tiny minutia, threw them at me, and spat in my face. This seemed to have a calming effect on him, for he then began to laugh, and he told me that if IÕd only stop Òthis nonsenseÓ, heÕd be willing to consider less hostile relations in the future. Of course I was delighted at the prospect of future niceties, but having seen the work of three weeks lying in a pile at my feet, I was in no mood to talk diplomacy. Furthermore, I was incensed by his referral to what just may be the most revolutionary theory in the history of Biology, as ÒnonsenseÓ.
I told him that I am always happy to do whatever I must, not only to ensure our survival, but also to make good relations between us possible, but the one thing I cannot do is compromise the integrity of my research. It was at this time that he warned me not to go near him again, lest Òyour notes wonÕt be the only thing lying in a pile on the floorÓ. I balked at such a threat, as I am first and foremost a man of peace. As a macrobiotic vegan, I believe in the brotherhood of all creatures, even those as hostile as Mr. Langham, or our unlived brethren outside our little complex. He then, for reasons I donÕt fully understand, wiped a single tear from his eye, looked at me as if he wished to say more, and stormed out. I knew then that things would not be improving with great haste.
This brings us, at last, to the night of my undeserved thrashing. Mr. Langham, in a drunken stupor I might add, began placing considerable pressure on my fragile but plucky host Roy, to tear down the stairs. The noise was immeasurably loud, given that I wasnÕt even informed theyÕd be doing so, but what really astounded me was Mr. LanghamÕs constant rebuking of poor Roy. I was startled to hear Mr. Langham refer to dear Roy as ÒPansy shitheelÓ, Òass pirateÓ, and most horridly, ÒA goddamned shit eating traitorÓ. I knew then I had to act, lest poor Roy become a victim to the capricious and callous nature of Mr. LanghamÕs apparent addiction to spirited liquors.
I ran into the room in time to hear Mitch yelling at Roy, threatening to hit him, and I knew it was time to act. I chose to defend my dear companion Roy in the only way I knew how, by speaking to his tormentor. I didnÕt want to bring Mr. Langham's anger on us further if I could avoid it, so rather than insist that he stop abusing my friend, I asked him to consider the noise he was making. The result of my selfless act is that I am now unable to speak, my mouth having several stitches, self administered. I am only able to speak a few muted syllables and the pain is debilitating when I do so. Therefore, I have chosen to hide away until I have healed sufficiently, and am no longer a burden to the others.
However, I think, for the first time in my life, I hate another human being, and I am ashamed. Until I can overcome this hatred and find a way to build a bond with him again, I will not use his first name, only his last. Once I have overcome this hate he will be ÒMitchÓ again. However, I shall say this. He must of course realize that in the course of my studies I have learned many of the arts of unarmed defense. It is only my committed pacifism that restrained me the night we last spoke, and I hope I do not find myself in need of my abilities again. I shant hesitate to use them.
I have spent the interim recompiling my notes, and I will post on this shortly. Thank you Roy, for your support in this tough time, and to Mr. Langham, I hope that the spirit of human love will seep back into your heart before too long.
Until then, I am,
Persona non Grata
I can see all too clearly the war waged upon our very humanity, by the stress of our rather isolated situation. Indeed, even after careful reflection, I must admit that I am without the requisite faculties to comprehend just how things have deteriorated so rapidly. I am not a cruel man, and most certainly I am not "vain", "callow", "prissy", "fagged up fifteen ways from Tuesday", "congenitally shitbrained", nor even, as Mr. Langham so colorfully added, after what I thought was the end of his rather profane display, "Fucking ass dicking cockchoked". Shocking really that such dreadful things have been said after what seemed so promising a situation.
I'm afraid that the theatre of the absurd to which you, the humble readers, have been treated is in fact the truth. I have been soundly thrashed, and quite undeservedly so. Allow me for a moment to explain things from my own perspective, in the hope that youÕll reconsider any negative opinions you might have developed as a result of Mr. LanghamÕs recent screed.
Last weekend, during our long lull and after the computer crashed, I diligently continued my research. During this time, late one night whilst I was compiling my notes for publication here on this blog, Mr. Langham unexpectedly came looking for me. He began by speaking to me rather indirectly, more with confused hostility and an unclear tone than a specific mission. I have to admit I became slightly uncomfortable by the whole affair, particularly the aggressive way in which he kept touching my arms, running his hands up and down the length of them, asking me just who I thought I was. When I protested his entrance to my small and private quarters, not to mention his bizarre invasion of my personal space, he flew into a bizarre tantrum. I regret to tell you all that as a result of this event, my research has been set back several days.
You see, when Mr. Langham embarked upon his me-directed late night outburst, he grabbed the notebook from my hands, and before I could but protest, he ripped my carefully constructed research notes into tiny minutia, threw them at me, and spat in my face. This seemed to have a calming effect on him, for he then began to laugh, and he told me that if IÕd only stop Òthis nonsenseÓ, heÕd be willing to consider less hostile relations in the future. Of course I was delighted at the prospect of future niceties, but having seen the work of three weeks lying in a pile at my feet, I was in no mood to talk diplomacy. Furthermore, I was incensed by his referral to what just may be the most revolutionary theory in the history of Biology, as ÒnonsenseÓ.
I told him that I am always happy to do whatever I must, not only to ensure our survival, but also to make good relations between us possible, but the one thing I cannot do is compromise the integrity of my research. It was at this time that he warned me not to go near him again, lest Òyour notes wonÕt be the only thing lying in a pile on the floorÓ. I balked at such a threat, as I am first and foremost a man of peace. As a macrobiotic vegan, I believe in the brotherhood of all creatures, even those as hostile as Mr. Langham, or our unlived brethren outside our little complex. He then, for reasons I donÕt fully understand, wiped a single tear from his eye, looked at me as if he wished to say more, and stormed out. I knew then that things would not be improving with great haste.
This brings us, at last, to the night of my undeserved thrashing. Mr. Langham, in a drunken stupor I might add, began placing considerable pressure on my fragile but plucky host Roy, to tear down the stairs. The noise was immeasurably loud, given that I wasnÕt even informed theyÕd be doing so, but what really astounded me was Mr. LanghamÕs constant rebuking of poor Roy. I was startled to hear Mr. Langham refer to dear Roy as ÒPansy shitheelÓ, Òass pirateÓ, and most horridly, ÒA goddamned shit eating traitorÓ. I knew then I had to act, lest poor Roy become a victim to the capricious and callous nature of Mr. LanghamÕs apparent addiction to spirited liquors.
I ran into the room in time to hear Mitch yelling at Roy, threatening to hit him, and I knew it was time to act. I chose to defend my dear companion Roy in the only way I knew how, by speaking to his tormentor. I didnÕt want to bring Mr. Langham's anger on us further if I could avoid it, so rather than insist that he stop abusing my friend, I asked him to consider the noise he was making. The result of my selfless act is that I am now unable to speak, my mouth having several stitches, self administered. I am only able to speak a few muted syllables and the pain is debilitating when I do so. Therefore, I have chosen to hide away until I have healed sufficiently, and am no longer a burden to the others.
However, I think, for the first time in my life, I hate another human being, and I am ashamed. Until I can overcome this hatred and find a way to build a bond with him again, I will not use his first name, only his last. Once I have overcome this hate he will be ÒMitchÓ again. However, I shall say this. He must of course realize that in the course of my studies I have learned many of the arts of unarmed defense. It is only my committed pacifism that restrained me the night we last spoke, and I hope I do not find myself in need of my abilities again. I shant hesitate to use them.
I have spent the interim recompiling my notes, and I will post on this shortly. Thank you Roy, for your support in this tough time, and to Mr. Langham, I hope that the spirit of human love will seep back into your heart before too long.
Until then, I am,
Persona non Grata
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Wowsers. Almost a week without a post. I have to say we all were going nuts, thinking the computer had a virus. But that was the least of all problems. There is nothing I can do now to mend our camp. There will be no Monopoly rematch.
Mitch went overboard. Poor Dixon is still crying. When I approach him he starts muttering some of his fancy phrases. I never understood them before but now with his bruised lip I only understood 'OUT'. Have it your way, I'm just trying to help.
Maybe these things will cheer them up.
This is the 60th video for Mad World by Gary Jules. This though is the best. Its a beautiful video by Michel Gondry.
-What's that?
-A Liger.
Discover the Liger and Napoleon Dynamite. Looks funny as hell.
Roy OUT!
Mitch went overboard. Poor Dixon is still crying. When I approach him he starts muttering some of his fancy phrases. I never understood them before but now with his bruised lip I only understood 'OUT'. Have it your way, I'm just trying to help.
Maybe these things will cheer them up.
This is the 60th video for Mad World by Gary Jules. This though is the best. Its a beautiful video by Michel Gondry.
-What's that?
-A Liger.
Discover the Liger and Napoleon Dynamite. Looks funny as hell.
Roy OUT!
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
I'm sure everyone has noticed that there haven't really been any posts this week. Roy and me and Dicky aren't really talking to each other at the moment as we had a small scuffle earlier this week. And by small I mean me beating the shit out of Dicky.
That isn't Dicky, that's the lead singer of the Von Bondies after Jack White beat up on him, but that's a round about approximation of what I've done to Dicky's face. You see, Roy and I decided it was finally time to take down the staircase. We've been talking about it forever(and would've been done with it if it weren't for the booze that got in the way last attempt), but with Roy's new found determination to get in shape and my beleif that Dicky might very well cause a breach in our defenses, it now seemed like the right time to get down to it.
So, we went about it(after tying the rope to the banister on the second floor), going slowly as we really only had a couple of hammers from the janitors closet and the baseball bat. Still, it felt good to be actually doing something worthwhile and the stairs are a simplistic rustic design to fit in with the rest of the camp, so it wasn't too hard. Anyway, progress was going well till fuckwad Dicky decided that all the noise was interferring with his observations of our "undead bretheren". I told him I'd be happy to take down the boards from the front door and he could go outside where it was less noisy, but I suppose he's not ready for up close study yet.
I thought we were through with the conversation, but Dicky couldn't shut up and Roy decided to ask him to pitch in; I'm assuming to try and fabricate some kind of bonding between the three of us. Not surprisingly, Dicky protested saying he wouldn't want to hurt his writing hand; that if he did he'd be forced to dictate his "musings on the post-living conundrum" to one of us and he was sure that in the notes we took(and he looked right at me when he said this) we'd find a way to "muck up the truth of his cerebral academia". WHAT THE FUCK, MAN! That doesn't even make sense and it still pisses me off just thinking about it.
So, yeah, hence the representative photo you see above you. It's easy to say I have a short fuse these days, and I freely admit it, but the thought of him spewing out his load of bullshit while I have to sit there and write it down(and mind you I would NEVER do that, but it didn't stop the image from freezing in my mind) was too much for me to take and next thing I knew Roy was pulling me off a semi-retarded blathering hunk of crybaby, moaning in the fetal position like a little bitch.
Do I regret what I did. Not at all. It felt good. In fact, I haven't been happier since I got into this "conundrum", but Roy is upset with me and that blows. I mean, we may have bickered and gotten on each other's nerves, but he's still one of my best friends and I'd rather have him on my side than being pissed at me and feeling sorry for that weasely nancy boy. But, I can't take it back, and I wouldn't want too, so Roy'll have to get over it and the good news is that all the adrenaline I built up ass whooping Dicky helped me finish off the stairs in about ten minutes. Cheers.
That isn't Dicky, that's the lead singer of the Von Bondies after Jack White beat up on him, but that's a round about approximation of what I've done to Dicky's face. You see, Roy and I decided it was finally time to take down the staircase. We've been talking about it forever(and would've been done with it if it weren't for the booze that got in the way last attempt), but with Roy's new found determination to get in shape and my beleif that Dicky might very well cause a breach in our defenses, it now seemed like the right time to get down to it.
So, we went about it(after tying the rope to the banister on the second floor), going slowly as we really only had a couple of hammers from the janitors closet and the baseball bat. Still, it felt good to be actually doing something worthwhile and the stairs are a simplistic rustic design to fit in with the rest of the camp, so it wasn't too hard. Anyway, progress was going well till fuckwad Dicky decided that all the noise was interferring with his observations of our "undead bretheren". I told him I'd be happy to take down the boards from the front door and he could go outside where it was less noisy, but I suppose he's not ready for up close study yet.
I thought we were through with the conversation, but Dicky couldn't shut up and Roy decided to ask him to pitch in; I'm assuming to try and fabricate some kind of bonding between the three of us. Not surprisingly, Dicky protested saying he wouldn't want to hurt his writing hand; that if he did he'd be forced to dictate his "musings on the post-living conundrum" to one of us and he was sure that in the notes we took(and he looked right at me when he said this) we'd find a way to "muck up the truth of his cerebral academia". WHAT THE FUCK, MAN! That doesn't even make sense and it still pisses me off just thinking about it.
So, yeah, hence the representative photo you see above you. It's easy to say I have a short fuse these days, and I freely admit it, but the thought of him spewing out his load of bullshit while I have to sit there and write it down(and mind you I would NEVER do that, but it didn't stop the image from freezing in my mind) was too much for me to take and next thing I knew Roy was pulling me off a semi-retarded blathering hunk of crybaby, moaning in the fetal position like a little bitch.
Do I regret what I did. Not at all. It felt good. In fact, I haven't been happier since I got into this "conundrum", but Roy is upset with me and that blows. I mean, we may have bickered and gotten on each other's nerves, but he's still one of my best friends and I'd rather have him on my side than being pissed at me and feeling sorry for that weasely nancy boy. But, I can't take it back, and I wouldn't want too, so Roy'll have to get over it and the good news is that all the adrenaline I built up ass whooping Dicky helped me finish off the stairs in about ten minutes. Cheers.
Friday, April 09, 2004
What the hell is going on? Why was my post repeated three times. Is the problem fixed? Do we have a virus? Oh fuck! What am I going to do if this computer fries. I'm freaking out man.
Whoa kids we must calm down. This is getting ridiculous. I am calling an emergency meeting. I am no longer going to be in the middle of this. I hope this image will soothe their hearts.
In other news I have been advised against growing my beard. If we have to make a run for it any excessive hair would only give the zombies one more thing to latch on to us. But I have kept up with my cardio routine. Twenty push ups, one hundred sit-ups and running in one spot for 15 minutes. A lean-mean-running-from-zombies-machine.
Damn Spidey come and rescue us.
In other news I have been advised against growing my beard. If we have to make a run for it any excessive hair would only give the zombies one more thing to latch on to us. But I have kept up with my cardio routine. Twenty push ups, one hundred sit-ups and running in one spot for 15 minutes. A lean-mean-running-from-zombies-machine.
Damn Spidey come and rescue us.
