Last Time I Checked, You Didn't Have An Education, Either.

...Ya' Fuckin' Whore.

I made a pizza today, from scratch. It was kind of a weird family event. Everyone came in from everywhere to mush-up dough and spill sauce. I chopped some bell-pepper and it was done. I used biscuit-dough that I'd rolled out for the crust, so it was a little odd, but frankly, I suck with flour. This is why when I try to make Mandu and Khinkali they come uncrimped or are so doughy that they may as well be a bun. It came out pretty good, actually, and pretty thrifty, too. In fact, I think the bell-pepper was the most expensive part of any of it.

The cats are almost ready to be adopted out - they've gained a good amount of weight, especially the less-fluffy one, who is now a bit heavy and grown out of her shyness to bully her smaller sister. The fluffier of the twins may be staying a bit longer, but I hope to get them to the same family. They may beat-up on each other, but they also sleep on each other, which I find makes up for it. I might not be able to get them both to the same family, though. Such is life in the Humane Society.

Aaron hit me up to photoship myself into Eda. It came out pretty well. Probably better than Bridget, 'cause Bridget was such a pain with his eyebrows. I'm posin' as a nun. Takin' kick-backs from black market organizations. Investigatin' for the CIA. I used a smaller, recolored version of today's picture to show you that Nuns with Guns is not only a rhyme, but pretty cool and vaguely threatening.

Oh, and Old-Flan is raising all this shit with Liam.
I could headbutt a bitch, because he's hiding behind all his locked shit to prevent anyone from confronting him. If you're going to pick a fight, do it, but make it a fair fight, not one where you hide behind a door and call someone names.

In closing, I'd like to leave you with some pious battle-music. I'd tailed into the extended version of this song while chasing PE-RI-CA and OBSCUREZONE, which were given to me by a friend for spamming, and promptly stole it.



This is what I listen to while driving my pious fists into the people chasing you.

I Don't Even Know.

I was in the greatest of moods before I'd turned off for the night to fix my keyboard and then write all this. It's one of those weird deals where I'm certain I'll probably feel better in the morning, but I'm just feeling weird. Weird in a bad way. Unhappy weird.

I've been roped in and out of peoples' troubled intimate lives and at the same time, I'm looking at mine with a little bit of shame because it sometimes seems everyone is looking to me for a some sort of hope when, at the end of my day, I'm hoping to ride to Canada on the back of my education and call it good. I've got every Jack and Terry as well as their brothers telling me to stay at home or to stay National and all sorts of other stuff.

More troubling still is Andrew. I dished Andrew a verbal headbutt for self-sabotaging his own plans and using Existentialist Theory to resign himself to his unhappiness. I told him he just needs to find a plan that works for him, and have a realistic goal to follow, and to aspire to be self-made. I guess, at the end of it all, I was just saying "Why can't you be me?".

I read like, half of Atlas Shrugged before realizing I had shit to read for College Credit and games I could be playing, which kind of undermines the idea that I'm trying to live in parallel to one of the characters. I want to be Hank Rearden, or maybe Midas Mulligan. Midas Mulligan seems to have a sappier grasp of things, having bought a bouquet of flowers on his way to Galt's Gulch. I aspire to do what I want through my own efforts and be well-established because of the things I've done, the time that I've lost and the sweat I've poured into things. I wish to be indebted to no one and to be able to say I own, with my own hands, what I live. I like to do things so I can tell people that I've done them. If they don't notice, I'll make them notice.

I think I may have hurt Tom.
They have this saying, that a Dog is only hit so many times until it recognizes who's hitting it and bites them. I've fed Tom the same bullshit, "Oh, hey! Sorry, I was kind of preoccupied! Goodnight." some sixteen times in a row or something. He didn't say a word back, this time. I think he's just realized who's hitting him, maybe, and giving me the same treatment in return. It doesn't feel good, and it didn't trouble me until I started pulling the keys out my keyboard to try and fix it. Just clinking away with my screwdriver, and I thought, "You've messed up, haven't you?"

I'm getting too preoccupied with a handful of people. I've lapsed out of my "Everything is a Whole" mentality, and things are becoming mosaic again, and I need to take a few steps back so I can see what the picture's all about.

I don't know what the hell the drawing is, this time.
It's not me.
It was supposed to be someone dropping a tea-tray.
Then it became a man with a tree growing from between his legs.
Then it became a man lifting a house.
It's kind of a mess, that's all it is.
A big mess.

Ichirin Was Here.

Raising these kittens has proven to be much more trouble than I'd intended. They've reached the point of familiarity where they're tired of being here and as a result have begun to chew on my things - a few postcards you readers may receive will have distinct kitten-chewies on the corners from bored cats stumbling upon my "Stack of Things to Mail".

Another rising issue is the distinct need the cats seem to have to chew on my cords. This isn't bad, as their tiny teeth haven't gotten to the point where they can puncture the insulation yet, but it takes shape in a really bad way, as they tend to yank my alarm-clock out the wall, making me wake up at 10:00 instead of 6:00.

Worse yet, the smaller of the two has relieved itself in my bed twice, which is why I'm up at this God-awful hour when I was tired about two hours ago.

My Old Man comes home tomorrow. I worry we may sink back into "Me Doing Everything" once he returns. My mother was lending me a well-appreciated hand in my father's trip to Arizona - she says it's because "She gets more done without my father being around". Kind of an ominous thing to hear, but whatever, so long as it keeps me from folding the laundry.

I've recently seen the saddest cartoon-moment since Spike's death at the end of Cowboy Bebop. It was the death of these two murderous twins in an arc of Black Lagoon that Aaron streamed. It, in many ways, paralleled Of Mice and Men. After relaying the perversions and murderous acts it was made to perform, this child removes his wig, revealing himself as the Brother of the two twins, and not the sister as they'd presumed they'd captured. After several more-gruesome details and the Child's questioning of God, the man hugs the child and proclaims that there is truly more to life than blowing someone apart with a firearm. The child states that the man is nice and promptly lifts his dress. What's seen is kind of left intentionally vague - it could've been that they'd mutilated him "down there", that the man was disgusted that the child was taught to perform that way, or any other number of things, but the guy runs out damning whoever owned the child to hell and beyond. Either way, at one point the boy laments having never been able to see the ocean. They take the child to a friend's, where the child will presumably live a happy, sheltered life. Said friend tells the child to wave goodbye, and while the child is turned, shoots it in the head. The child regards the ocean, then dies.

I was kind of on the verge of manly-tears.
I didn't quite cry, though. I think I may have cried when Spike uttered his last Bang-! but I was, admittedly, much younger when I'd finished Cowboy Bebop.

It's been a day for odd conversation. I'm appreciating people.
I'm appreciating them a lot, but I have very limited time with them, because not only am I now sleeping-in due to my constantly-unplugged alarm, but I still have cleaning and such to do as well. My head's even kind of strayed into some less than pious waters, and I've been nursing that Strange Disease all week. It cumulated in a kind of boil-over as I got to see from an older perspective, one I haven't quite abandoned but have put from regular use, again.

Also, have you ever tried Alien Swarm?
I just picked it up, a ways back, and now I've traded all my delightful armaments for a lousy badge. I don't think I'll do it again. I can stand to be Rank 0 so long as I'm ranked, I guess. The Super-Fist? Best upgrade in-game, hands down.
...Damn, I can't wait to get it again.

I've kind of lapsed into drinking soda again. I have big spans where I drink my weight in water for a month or two, and then I somehow end up cracking open a can of Welch's Grape and then, Blam. I'm back drinking canned syrup until I start to feel guilty about what I'm doing to myself and hop back onto the water-wagon for another month.

Once a get an Apartment or something, I won't have to worry about that 'cause my sorry ass won't be able to afford soda. Just wait, Syracuse. Just wait.




In closing, here's some long overdue pictures off the kittens.
The first one is the smaller of the two. The one behind my speakerbox is the shyer of the two, but the bigger. As of late, it's become a bit of a bully to it's little sister.

Fist-Dilemmas and Era-Brand Detergent.

So I was messing around in Photoshop, namely the tools I never use because they're ugly, like the Palette Knife and such. Suddenly, this happened. I like it, though it looks like it belongs in Counter Strike or something.


I ended up taking all of the dogs out, today. It was partially to check to see if we've gotten rid of their's tapeworms, but they've also been so cooped-up that they're beginning to cry just because they can. It did a number on me, and I ended up napping - I was on the verge of an asthma-attack. When I got up, I booted up to sneak in a few levels while Remilia was gone. That said, Remilia eventually showed up, and as such, twisted Morichika's arm to show up, too.

We played, and after awhile I was faced with an odd dilemma, as I suddenly found that Monks don't get to wear Nun-Coifs. As a result, I, after grinding diligently to End-Tier, backed out for Priesthood. It's kind of a shame, but, perhaps, I'll be more useful that way? The only real problem is, I have no clue what to put points into... Still, I look the part, even though "The Part" ends up looking like a Traditional Catholic Nun.

I also got -help- today, at least with the laundry. My mother acknowledged that there was -nowhere- to put the laundry, as I'd folded so much that it covered the little table we keep everything on. We took up my Old Man's clothes, 'cause he's left for Arizona for the week, then my sister's. I took mine in a ways back, and now the table's back to empty and I can start folding the laundry so it's separate from the other stuff - I'm certain a few blankets were rewashed because I couldn't tell they weren't dirty...

I noticed we use Era-Brand Detergent.
I like it because it's cheapie, huge, and I think it smells really nice.
It smells...like soap. Like hand-soap.
When you pull it out the dryer, it just smells like clean hands, and I love it.
Having been taught to bargain down, I think, when I'm out buying stuff for myself, I've got to get Era. And really generic coffee, too. Coffee's one of those things you can skimp on because you don't drink coffee because it's good. You drink it because you're going to sleep otherwise.

A bunch of my postcards were received today.
Oh man, I love hearing that, because I never expect it.
I'm too used to snail-mail.

'o000000000000,kkkkk\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

I didn't know what the title should be. I was trying to think of something witty when one of the kittens suddenly jumped onto the keyboard and typed the title of the post.Thanks, Kitten #1. You saved me a lot of trouble.

Destroyman whipped up this rather nifty doodle today, which makes Destroyman twice as useful as your average cat for making me not have to draw for the post that the cats saved me the trouble of naming. Thanks Steve, you're all that and an appetizer for under a buck. I should call your sorry ass at 5:00 AM or something again, and leave you a thank you after my mandatory "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--THIS IS AN EMERGENCY".

It was kind of a weird day.

I spent most of it in a weird state of disagreement with my friends.
I spent the rest of it downloading a copy of RO to play with Remilia and Rinnosuke, watching UHF, and laughing at Aaron going "SHUT UP GRANDMA-! DRINK YO' PRUNE JUICE!"

Seriously. We laughed about the prune juice for a solid six minutes or so.
And when we stopped laughing?
We just said it again, and that somehow renewed it's humor.

I -have- to play Monk, now, by the by. I have some vague experience having played it on GyRO, but now it matches. I just have to remember the good specializations for it, and what parts are the best for making new constellations out monsters after I punch them. I should probably find stuff to collect again - last time? I collected Anodyne, Aloe-Vera, and Panacea. I could probably do that again. Gotta think of what the most pious pet is, too. Or maybe get a Deviruchi, seeing as I'm supposedly the most unpious thing to walk Gensokyo. I might name him Stan - they remind me of Evil King Stan from Okage.

I grilled, like I said I would. It came out really well, and we're finally out of chicken. Alec was pleased that it wasn't spicy and all it took was some lime-juice and cayenne pepper. I wasn't so generous with the cayenne, because that killed it for her, last time. She said I now "Cook chicken as good as Uncle Charlie, which is sayin' somethin'."

Speaking of Charles, I have to ask him the best way to control eight servos tomorrow. I hope he calls so I can bother him with that, 'cause I don't know his number now that he's in Minnesota.

In closing, Stanley Spadowski?
The best character in UHF.
Even when my day's a little rough, I've just got to remember his blessed mantra:

Life is like a mop.

Sometimes, life gets full of dirt, and crud, and bugs, and hairballs, and stuff.
You've got to clean it off.

Put it in a press-bucket and rinse it off and start all over again.

And sometimes, life sticks to the floor so bad that a mop is not good enough,

and you've gotta get down there with a toothbrush, and really scrub.

I've Got a Strange Disease

Wee-oooh-! Wee-oooh-!

I've been plagued by that unwavering fondness.
I'm starting to entertain some extinct ideas over here, because the cards seem to be in my favor. I'm often laying against a more-prominent reminder of this when I try to sleep. I've got a strange disease.

I'm also short a pint of blood - I've donated five pints, which means I'm just three away from a gallon, at which point I get some perk - I think they said I can slap them down for reference on College stuff, or Job stuff. Either is beneficial to me. Plus, I have some sort of weird pride-bit about having donated enough blood to be marked on a meter at the Gas Station. I can donate again September 11th - hell of a scheduled time, right? Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to that.

I've also taken in these two kittens for the Humane Society. They were slated for euthanasia for being too small to vaccinate, so I'm nursing them back to a healthy weight, at which point the Humane Society will take them and adopt them out. They're both nameless, and enjoy climbing my legs and cork-board. I jokingly said I wanted to name one Balalaika.

We sold the furniture in the basement. Prepping for Syracuse is a riot - I had to clear out everything and roll-up the carpet, alone. My Old Man tried to chip in at the end, after I'd done anything, but I told him I wouldn't lift if he tried to help me, because I'd lose my bitching-rights if he were able to lie and say that we "Did the Basement together". He told me that I'm too proud and "It's called Teamwork".
I told him there isn't teamwork here - there's me. He wasn't too pleased, but he let go and I moved everything myself. He kind of tried to apologize for making me do everything by offering to spend some cash on me, but I declined because I don't like to bum money off my parents. He punctuated my refusal with "Well fuck you, then."
My Old Man and I have an odd relationship...

Everything's done, though, and it feels good to not have to do anything for awhile. However, there isn't a whole lot of food, now. Cooking has started to be a bit of a pain, and I think I'm probably going to grill tomorrow so that we have something easy. Time to slather everything in Cayenne because it's flavorful and we have a lot of it - I originally picked it up for Liam's ideal-breakfast, which I haven't eaten in a long while, because we're out of bread and the Teflon on our pans is wearing off.

In closing, here's a recipe for the aforementioned breakfast:

Toast some Rye Bread.
Top it with an Over-Easy Egg, Cayenne Pepper, and Blackberry Jam.
Promptly enjoy.

The egg, pepper, and jelly covers every flavor you could possibly have, and it puts them together well. It's surprisingly delicious. I only worked up the courage to try it after eating a Monte Cristo Sandwich, which also calls for one to put jelly on something I don't think it belongs on. Give it a shot and see if it's for you.

WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP.

That's what your bass should sound like if you're spinnin' the vinyl of any respectable Hardcore artist. RoughSketch is probably my favorite. Techno aside, today's guest art is provided by Mima, also known as The Charrr, and was titled "Suddenly, Ichirin is a DJ". Thanks, Mima, you really saved me from having to doodle.

I finally have SA:MP patched and I finally mailed the postcards I've been meaning to. Hopefully, I can soon add a third finally and say "I've finally fixed my sleep schedule".

See, yesterday I got a bunch of my vaccinations renewed, and they more or less knocked me onto my pious ass. I ended up going to bed at 9:00 because my massive fever became a massive fever and a splitting headache, and I couldn't stand to look at a screen a moment longer, so I crashed out at a reasonable hour. The only thing I didn't count on was sleeping until 2:00 PM. Hopefully that doesn't keep me from a restful sleep, 'cause I'm going to chalk that up to the vaccine tiring me out, too.

When I slept, I had a weird dream where Tom was eating at some Greasy Spoon Diner called Slingin' Mimi's. If this place exists, I've never eaten there and it. It doesn't seem to be. I check these dream-locations because even though I've never been there, they're sometimes real: I once had a dream about a man named Vincent Hui - I looked him up to find he's a very odd surreal artist, whom I was not familiar with. His name was collared to the neck of some fictional, web-toed animal in a dream of mine. He draws and paints very odd, contorted people, and sometimes, the titles to the pictures they're in really make you think. Others are just funny, like a man lifting an obese child in a green shirt is titled "Lime Picker", the round child being the proverbial lime.

Today's cleaning routine left me not smelling sterile, but like dust. I ended up blowing the filter of the vacuum out with an air-compressor. I left in a coughing fit before the job was finished, returning with a shirt tied around my mouth and my sunglasses to keep it out my eyes. If you'd like to see what I'll look like in the apocalypse, it'll be something like that, only with wearing multiple pairs of clothes maybe carrying some things on my back.

I've resumed talking to a few people I've begun to miss, too: Cirno, Nitori, Tenko, you guys are definitely great. I'll try to join you for something sometime, if you'll have my company.

I guess that's all there is for today. Nothing too eventful.
A new restaurant is opening, soon. I think I'll apply there once the curriculum's up, seeing as I'll be around for a bit longer, try to make a few bucks during my remainder of time in Saint Joseph. Any money is enough to get me closer to the few people the matter enough to visit, and if I visit, perhaps they might let me stay in the vicinity of them when I'm attending college.

Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

The Raging Buddhist.

The title is from a fake Album Art I once saw made in a computer-graphics seminar. I remember the album-cover being the face of a crying baby, which, incidentally, does look a lot like a pissed-off Buddhist Monk. It also parallels the fact that I'm about to complain.

So, my parents have been on this whole bar-hopping and gambling kick. They're consistently out and about until about 3:00 AM, and sleep until 1:00 PM, unless they're going to work, in which case they're out the door by 8:00 AM and I don't really see them anyways. While they're gone, I'm the sole person to hold-down the household, so I have to do all the cleaning: The dishes, the laundry, whatever the pets do, the bathrooms, the trash. I was even asked to do my parents' room on a few occasions. I do the yardwork here and there. In addition to that, I do the cooking, unless my sister makes herself a potato or something, which is just about all she'll eat unless I cook her something. I also do all the weird stuff that pops up while they're gone, like reupholstering my sister's furniture or sucking stains out the carpet when someone pukes on the floor.

For the past few days, I've been getting on to say hello to everyone anywhere from 4:00 PM to 9:00 PM because I've been doing all this jazz. I've also noticed that, for the past few days, there hasn't been a day where my hands don't smell sterile: Paint Thinner, Bleach, Detergent, Odo-Ban, Windex, Tilex, Ajax. It all comes together at the end of the day so that when I run my hands over the stubble that's piling up on my face, I smell formaldehyde.

Getting on at 4:00-9:00 PM also means I've been largely excluded from the newest edition of Package for the People, of which I was supposed to kind of be a big part. I've more or less been outperformed in my absence and I was pretty disappointed to see that, although I worked for a few hours on the Guide that was supposed to accompany the new edition and formatted some of it into a very comprehensive set-up, it was ultimately scrapped and, if anything, my credits were used, sort of.

Ultimately, I'm just bitter and feeling a lack of recognition.

In closing...














I warned you about stairs, Tom.
I told you, dog.

I told you, man.
I told you about stairs.

In Which Ichirin Brags About Things.

Last year I payed some $15 or so to take a test that would qualify me to be exempt for English courses my Freshman Year of college, provided I passed the rigorous four-hour testing session, which was mostly centered around the interpretation of outdated literature and concluded with the writing of three essays on a topic undisclosed until the testing had begun. Today, after cleaning a bit and waving in my Old Man, I got the mail to see that my results had finally come in.

The scores are apparently leveled One through Five - One being "No recommendation" and Five being "Extremely Well Qualified". I have been recognized as a Five, and my test-results shipped to College 0980 - The University of Saskatchewan. I'm so pleased it's unreal - furthermore, apparently I can apply online for a APID - an AP International Diploma, which allows me to certify my achievement to Universities outside the United States, which I may need should the University of Saskatchewan actually write back to me. Syracuse isn't too terribly far away, either! One ferry ticket'll supposedly get me where I want to go. Syracuse is proving to be the transit of my aspirations. Some sort of Geographic Wonder that's just a ticket away from anywhere I want to be. I guess that sort of warrants the Cigar in that doodle - I love it when a plan comes together!

I've been trying to play Commando more in Killing Floor - several Ichirin-with-an-AK things I saw a ways back have started making it quite appealing, though I don't have the easiest time leveling it up. I started out dirt-awful at it, and now I'm already two-starred and making a name out it. Just got to find people who want to play and show them what I can do! Berserker's also making a bit of progress, I like that 'cause the Icon's a Fist.

I have these two postcards I desperately need to mail out already, but I can't, for the life of me, find my stamps. I kind of wrote them in advance. I should probably send Alex a Happy Birthday one, too.

Alex's birthday is today - so many Summer birthdays, I know.
I couldn't get him anything more than an Ice-cream either.
Happy Birthday, Alex.
It's funny, their birthdays are in such close proximity, I think they both turned the same age, and my sisters' name is Alec. I can't help but shake that it'd be the weirdest thing if they hooked-up or something. Alec and Alex with their consecutive birthdays. I'm straying into weird waters at this point, so I'm just going to stop myself and close up with a little something from Hjalmar.

So, I ran my Commando-Doodle past Hjalmar last night, and I'd said, "You're too cool to tell me 'That's not how a stockless AK-47 looks!'" beforehand. He agreed, but after seeing it suddenly replied, "Or maybe I'm not. Dear God, why is the grip where it's at!?"

We both agreed it looks more like a sawed-off shotgun's grip, and therefore, that makes whatever I'm holding a Top-Break Assault Rifle, which Hjalmar was more than happy to doodle-up for me.














Thanks, Hjalmar.
You're the best worst critic of my doodling.
Just kidding, just kidding. You know I dig ya'!

Suits, Cake, Disputes and Rain.

It's been an odd bit between these last few posts. I haven't had a lot of time to doodle, so I've been trying to make up for it with a few photos here and there. I've also thoroughly ruined my sleep schedule and now I'm getting up sometime around 9:00 at best.

First on the order of affairs, it's my little sister's birthday, today. She's officially fourteen, and has now left lolihood behind for a full year. We took her out and bought her some fancy duds and a bottle of some celebrity-brand perfume that smells a lot like cotton candy, then treated her to Chinese and Ice-Cream. She ordered Orange Chicken, as she always does - I found that kind of amusing because she only orders Orange Chicken, but then teases me for only ordering Salmon on the rare occasion that we go out to eat. She followed it up with a single-scoop chocolate cone; when it comes to ice-cream, my sister only likes chocolate. I guess that kind of concludes it - I was planning to bake or grill for her or something, but the Orange Chicken and rain kind of put a damper on that.

I also got fitted for a suit today - apparently, with all this college stuff just around the bend, I need one. Here's a little...I don't know, soliloquy? Soliloquy, I guess, where I tell you about my disdain for clothes shopping. First off, my parents still fit the bill for a lot of my clothes, which I really hate - I tend to pick one or two things, and then wear the daylights out of them, because I don't like the Debtor's Vibe I get when they buy me things. I don't have the money to pay them back, anymore, or the money to buy the suit I supposedly need.
Then? The size-ups. Here I am in the middle of J.C. Penney's with a stranger sizing me up with a tape-measure, and being asked if I prefer Pinstripes or Solids, or if my slacks are too tight, and if they are if it's because of "My hips, or something a little further below my belt."

I don't give a damned - Frankly, if I could've gotten my parents to not feel inadequate about sending me into college with one of the suits I picked up at the dime-store I'd be pleased to high heavens, but they kind of insisted. I don't care if it's solid or striped, or if the lapels are "thirty-three point twos" or whatever the hell, just give me something cheap and functional so I can get the hell out. While all that was going on, I also remember one of my parents remarking that someone they were acquainted with purchases a set of luggage for their kid on his way to college, and they'd acted like it was some great travesty for them to have done so. I said I would've been kind of okay with something like that, because it'd have made me think of Holden Caulfield and how he hid his luggage when he was at college because seeing the beat-up luggage of his room-mate kind of made him feel bad. I like Holden Caulfield a lot - I think there's a bit of Holden in all of us.

Liam's in a rough situation, or rather, was. I kind of wish this Birthday affair were on a different day, because I've been sweating it all day, like he probably suspected me to. His stepdad went postal over something as trivial as a Chihuahua. Furthermore, it escalated to contact. I think a concerned neighbor called the authorities and Liam and his mother were scooted off to a grandparent's place.
Oddly enough, I don't think it was the physical stuff that worried me. Some pretty brutal things were said about him while the dispute was going on, and I just, I don't know, I'm worried his pride might be wounded, or his self-image bruised.
In all actuality, he's probably just peachy, and going "I bet that nun's sitting back, worrying about things that aren't an issue."

It rained, as I've vaguely mentioned. This means, of course, that I've gone on a walk in it. My favorite part about the streets when it rains are the storm-drains. I like to walk near them. My favorite storm-drain here is this one:

It's my favorite because of the fish painted onto its top and the odd things growing out it.









I also sort of like this one, because it's plugged. I think it's plugged because of sand - someone had that odd plaster-sand, like from that book 'Tangerine', and it washed into the drain and it hasn't drained-off since. It used to smell less than pleasant, but as it gradually washed itself, now it's very lovely to look at, I think.













I figured I'd end off with this little campaign poster that I thought Hjalmar would appreciate. Somewhere, Joseph Stalin wants to be your County Clerk. He has political experience, you know!

Prairie Region Salute.

Happy Birthday, High Maid.
I made this a ways back, and I was saving it for the occasion.

This Warrants A Pious Boogie.

So it's been little over a year, and I've spent it with you guys.
It hasn't always been smooth, there's a few weeks all of us would rather have forgotten, but we're still around.

There were also good times, a few good cries, and those moments of solid gold which a few of us, I'm sure, have immortalized in Notepad, somewhere.

You guys know who you are, so I'm not going to list you.
Thanks for spending the year with me, you've got me throwing confetti over here.

I'm looking forward to another.

Why My Superpowers Are Better Than Yours.

You may have all manner of bullet-spreads and hax that a simple Stage Three like me can't even begin to fathom, but I have the most classy boxing you've ever seen, and that puts me a cut above what you're dishing out.

With complete disregard for Dudley and Unzan, I will now begin to advertise.
A ways back, there was a collective effort between Parsee, Mystia, Patchouli and I to put together a huge Touhou Edit Kit for San Andreas. We've got most characters, reskins for Youmu's Sword, Sakuya's Knives, Kogasa's Karakasa will soon take the place of the bat.

We've got spellcards and a few places to play, provided Negro makes a few concessions on our part, but more or less, we're sittin' in butter, scrubs.

The set-up is a little weird with the Steam Version of the game, but I'm almost certain you could pirate a copy and still join us for Multiplayer, if it's your cup of tea. If you need help setting up, I'm sure one of us can help you in the Group Chat I'm about to mention.

We're working on a Version Six, but the Fifth Edition of our Mod-Package, is already out, and you can download it Here.

If you're fond of silly hats, and all manner of ballin' bustas erryday, I encourage you to scope it out and visit our Group-Chat here in Maid Army, which will likely be our place of headquarters until Version Six is released and we likely resume use of Our Original Group

Thanks for reading, and KEEP IT CLASSY-!

Fortune Cookies and Things I've Talked About.

I've saved the fortunes from ten fortune-cookies I'd eaten over the span of about a year. I just noticed them all, and figured I'd slap them up here, because they might mean something to me now, and I've forgotten what they all said after tacking them to my cork-board:

"Rely on your friends today to help make that difficult decision - 7 12 18 32 42 47."

"Someone is speaking well of you at this very moment! - 3 15 17 18 44 47."

"You will be successful through innovation and determination - 14 21 23 24 28 30."

"BE TACTFUL, DO NOT OVERLOOK YOUR OWN OPPORTUNITIES."

"There are big changes ahead for you - 14, 18, 23, 38, 44, 47."

"Nothing can keep you from reaching your goals. Do it! - 2 5 25 31 43 46."

"Work on improving your exercise routine - 11 1 34 39 44 48."

"The rainbow's treasures will soon belong to you - 9 18 22 32 42 48."

"You will always have good luck in your personal affairs.
Lucky # 13, 22, 7, 36, 21, 10
Learn Chinese: Language, Yu-yan 語言"

"YOU WOULD BE WISE NOT TO SEEK TOO MUCH FROM OTHERS AT THIS TIME"

Also, there are some things I've talked about in my posts, Listed in Order of Appearance:

Walks in the Rain.
Framing Postcards I Get.
That Fucking Alarm-Clock.
The Ubiquitous Awesome Green Hat.
Postcards for Other People. (The visible one is going to Alon.)
The CPUnzan (Tilted on to his side for maintenance.)
The CPUnzan's hardworking, evil counterpart - The Craptop.
That Green Coffee Mug.

Decaf and DGAF.

It's been a pretty good day. I woke up, made coffee, and realized that I'd done all the laundry, and having changed everyone's sheets and done the dishes, there was actually a whole lot of nothing to be done in the house. I did some yardwork, which left my hands blistered a bit, and decided to tamper with my computer.

One of the RAM sticks was loose, but not quite out. Parsee kind of said that might be the case, and after I pressed the RAM back into place, the computer not only finished booting up, but I was able to play a solid match without crashing. Huge success.

I bought Yasaka Global Agenda for his birthday. I've been pretty broke lately, and now I'm completely spent. The proverbial communion tray is empty. I can only hope I get some love on my own birthday, as well. Even just postcards or something - I frame those, you know. They mean a lot to me.

I got to talk to Tom - he's doing well, and like me, talks like he types. We talked about food and tea and other mundane things, but I'd never heard such an "aye" studded conversation. It's really neat, actually. Some people just talk cool, you know? I meant to talk longer, though I didn't have much to say, but my little sister picked up the other end of the phone to ask for Mac 'n Cheese. I ended up grilling for her instead.
I'd made this sort of Steak-Burger thing. It was advertised on the back of the sauce I was using. Basically, it's a burger prepared like a steak is - grilled with Worcestershire and such. She ate it with ketchup, and I thought that was weird. Who puts ketchup on steak?

A faux-pas kind of killed my evening, though.
There are a few subjects that are a little situational with me - like, some heavy discretion is needed if you're going to toss the subject about. I think the comment went unheard, but I'd still heard it, and it was not only insensitive but could've kind of jeopardized me with it being said. Confronting about it just made me look like an ass, because I'd wound up on the ever-persistent topic of "Back when you were Wriggle". I tried to walk out it, but I ended up being pulled back into it, though not much else was said on the matter, aside from, "I'm not done talking" and then, "You know what? Leave."

I reheated my coffee from this morning, and now I'm sitting here, typing this stuff out, and not giving - or at least pretending not to give - a fuck about either topic, slumped on my hand and looking something like this, green mug and all.

>My Face When My Card Stops Working Again

Well, shit. I'd thought swapping to Windows Seven and updating my drivers and all that Jazz would fix up my computer and have me playing games again - I was right, too.

...For about a week.

It just screwed up this morning, and now I'm choppier than Judo. It's the same games, too, so I'm going to say it's safe to assume that it's the same problem.
I don't know if I feel like running it back to John's - he already does an awful lot for me. I think I'll tamper with it myself, and see where it gets me.

On the bright side, I can probably still play Dark Reign, or something.
Maybe Flatspace or perhaps, if it's exempt from the issues that the other HL2 games have, Killing Floor. Killing Floor was pretty safe for awhile, but then even That started chopping up.

If push comes to shove, I might have to hit up some of the more Tech-Wise Touhous for some help - yeah, that pretty much means Parsee.