22 December, 2011

Being for the Benefit of... YOU!

Blatantly ripping off... er... borrowing from the tremendous inspiration of my good friend LYSSA BEE, I am going to begin offering terrible advice that you should never follow! Just shoot me a message and I'll make a post wherin I solve your little problem with my supreme wisdom and guidance. Just agree not to sue when if it all goes wrong, okay? Ciao~

YOUR RESULTS MAY VARY!

16 December, 2011

On Battlestar Galactica

So, I was browsing around web today and I just found something that I really wish I'd known about when I was first watching Battlestar Galactica:


That, friends, is Tricia Helfer and Grace Park: two out of the three hottest women ever to exist in ever (excepting, of course, my fiancee. Hi honey!) The whole set is out there on the Internets and, while I would post it here, I really don't want my fiancee to beat me. Well, not that kind of beating. Whatever. Expect more humorous posts now since SOPA was temporarily killed today. I'll write about my new wine glasses and how shitty wine tastes much better when you drink a lot of it. Ciao~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: DO YOU STILL THINK VOYAGER IS BETTER, E?

15 December, 2011

Thoughts on American Governance

I apologize wholeheartedly for the recent lack of humorous, lighthearted posts on this blog. The fact is that to those paying attention, the world offers little to joke about.


SOPA seems assured to pass. The fact is that this shit sandwich of a law has corporate and bipartisan support. Politically speaking, Obama would be a fool not to sign it into law. With the NDAA due to be signed into law by Obama as well, the notion of a free America is quite well on its way to being dead and buried.

Can you seriously name one of our ten amendments in the Bill of Rights that hasn't been asterisked by some piece of bullshit legislation? Let me clarify this:

*First Amendment – Establishment Clause, Free Exercise Clause; freedom of speech, of the press, and of assembly; right to petition
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. (Aside from SOPA, the NDAA provides the military with the ability to detain protesters without due process indefinitely. Further, the government has implicitely acknowledged the existence of a deity in our supposed national motto, "In God We Trust.")

*Second Amendment – Militia (United States), Sovereign state, Right to keep and bear arms.
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed. (Don't even get me started on the bullshit gun laws in place.)

*Third Amendment – Protection from quartering of troops.
No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law. (The NDAA declares America - in essence - a battlefield. A presidential order could easily see troops quartered in your home should local command feel it prudent.)

*Fourth Amendment – Protection from unreasonable search and seizure.
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized. (PATRIOT ACT, NDAA, SOPA, PIPA, et al)

*Fifth Amendment – due process, double jeopardy, self-incrimination, eminent domain.
No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation. (The PATRIOT ACT essentially destroyed this amendment.)

*Sixth Amendment – Trial by jury and rights of the accused; Confrontation Clause, speedy trial, public trial, right to counsel
In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence. (See the NDAA and the PATRIOT ACT)

*Seventh Amendment – Civil trial by jury.
In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law. (Again, see the NDAA and the PATRIOT ACT.)

*Eighth Amendment – Prohibition of excessive bail and cruel and unusual punishment.
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted. (Once again, NDAA.)

*Ninth Amendment – Protection of rights not specifically enumerated in the Constitution.
The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people. (Intact on paper. I am less than inspired by the ability of the government to see to this in practice.)

*Tenth Amendment – Powers of States and people.
The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people. (The rise in federal power over the history of the United States has effectively rendered us a unitary state with federalistic features. The notion of a state going against the will of Washington is now an absurdity.)

So you see, it is not altogether ridiculous to suppose that we are no longer a free nation as it stands. Though this may be hyperbolic to some, I feel the inevitable passage of SOPA is just one more nail in the coffin of American Liberty. The sooner we rise up as one people and take Washington to task for their betrayal of the freedom of the sovereign People of this nation, the better.

At this point, rebellion is the only sensible solution I see to America's ills. The system is so fatally poisoned. What else can we do to save our freedoms?

14 December, 2011

Quotes about ComradePants from the Telltale Games Forums

Collected here at long last, for the list has become too long for my signature. Here they are, at long last: quotes from TTG forum users about moi. Well, okay. Most of them are just things I liked.

"Absinthe makes the fond grow fonder...and the liver grow tender..." - Comrade Mortis (Gonna wife this one. :P)

"You're my totem, Pants." - Secret Fawful

"No porblem." - Alcoremortis

"it's so brilliant how, you know, things just develop around you so you don't have to put effort into them" - Rather Dashing

"god has nothing to do with this place." - Johro

"Pants's love for guns is matched only by his love for his fiancee and hard liquor." - Puzzlebox

A Rant on Cultural Heritage and Bigotry

The American South is a strange land filled - for the most part - with alcoholic gun owners and people who try to deep fry every food item they come across. This is a fact and I know it because I have lived in Georgia for the entirety of my life. However, it would be in error for me to claim that I have no love for the place. Indeed, I have some strange measure of what may be considered pride in my homeland in spite of the air of redneckery that fills the place.

Now, before I go on I feel that I must stress that I am a multiculturalist. I believe strongly that America's greatness comes in part from the great variety of creeds, cultures, races and sexual identities which grace our (formerly) great Republic. That being said, the South has a bit of an unfair position. Now, to claim that I am being oppressed in comparison to minorities is outright ridiculous, to be sure, but there is a bit of a problem.

You see, the symbols of the old Confederacy have long been used to express Southern pride but these symbols have been co-opted by evil and reprehensible people to represent goals that any man of moral standing would be appalled to see furthered. One cannot appreciate 'Dixie' as a song on YouTube without being bombarded with numerous links to videos promoting music of the Ku Klux Klan - an organization that would likely kill me for having a Chinese fiancee. You can see, then, why I am slightly miffed about this.

Now, the South isn't the only group with this problem. Supporters of the German Monarchy of the late 1800s are often forbidden to fly their flags as they too have been co-opted by racists (in their case, Neo-Nazis) who are violent and evil. This is not to claim that the Confederate States of America or the Second German Empire were without fault, but the United States murdered hundreds of thousands of Native Americans whilst stealing their continent and it is considered honorable and indeed encouraged to fly the banner under which these atrocities were committed.

Further, I am aware that it is an old war that the South lost and that many might view taking pride in a defeat to be living in the past or, perhaps, a stupid and backwards thing to do. However, one might make the same argument about Taiwanese or Tibetan independence supporters: their causes are hopeless and their wars are lost, but they have immense pride in their homelands. The same can be said of the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, the Brazilian Confederados, or even the independence movements of Hawaii, Alaska and Puerto Rico. The world is filled with lost causes for independent nations, but these people still take pride in their homelands, no matter how insignificant they are.

Likewise, I love Georgia, in spite of its terrible flaws. It is the soil upon which I was raised, my father was raised, his father was raised, and his father was raised. I am rooted here, and I deserve the same right as anyone else to be proud of my homeland without bigots spoiling the public's perception of the banners and anthems which represent my home. Besides, the United States government is pretty shitty these days. No one wants slavery back, or at least no one with any real sanity, but I know a ton of people who'd love to see the Federal government dissolve in all of its decadent corruption.

Now, I have no idea where to even begin on reclaiming these symbols. Perhaps the icons of modern Southern culture (which, admittedly, I have little love for) could set about mocking and ridiculing the Klan - an organization which is already on the fall and has been for decades. "Look at them Klansmen." Jeff Foxworthy or someone of his ilk might say "Them hats look like the dunce hats my teacher made me wear. I knew they were idiots, but it sure is good to see them being honest about it." Something like that would be great, but no one seems willing to make jokes about them.

A similar dilemma faces the swastika in western culture. Once recognized across the Western world as an ancient symbol of good luck and fortune, it was co-opted by evil men with evil aims for evil works. If the Nazis were ridiculed and mocked so that no one might take them seriously, perhaps we could reclaim the Chaplain mustache from Hitler and the swastika could be used as a symbol of good luck again, as it was originally intended. Indeed, humor makes it so much harder for racists to be taken seriously and thus ruins their appeal to disaffected youths - their usual targets for recruitment. After all, would a young bigot be inclined to join a gang of Nazis if they were suddenly laughed at everywhere they went instead of feared? How long would skinheads last while prowling for victims if everyone they saw laughed in their faces? Oh my, but I'm on a tangent here.

Anyway, that's my (horribly disorganized) rant. I realize that this will be controversial, but that's why you people come here. I'm an unconventional and controversial man and you people love that. Sound off in the comments, as I'd love to hear responses to my position.

02 December, 2011

Gonzo

Right, so here's the story of how Hunter S. Thompson invented blogging. What's the S stand for? Shut up, no one said you could talk. Stop talking.

Stockton.

It was 2005. My brother Parker and I were dining at the Sun Dial restaurant atop the Peachtree Plaza hotel in Atlanta. If I remember correctly, he had ordered the lobster bisque and I had ordered a root beer float with vodka. He had been discussing boring trivialities with me for the better part of the day: the weather, sports ball scores, some boring medical test results; when I decided to interrupt him with something important. Something that had been on my mind all day.

"Hunter S. Thompson was the greatest goddamn blogger who ever lived." I told him. "What does this have to do with paying for your college?" He sputtered. I looked him square in the eye and - without breaking eye contact - proceeded to issue my challenge. "If you can prove me wrong, I'll buy the whole goddamn lunch."

I had his attention.

My story went a little something like this: in the years before the Internet, the only way to get people to read your writing was to get into journalism. Or fiction. Pulp science fictions, preferably. Whatever, that's not important. The fact that matters, though, is that printed word was king and everyone and their aunt read it. If you couldn't get published, well by Sithis you'd start your own goddamn periodical rag.

It was into this environment that a young man whom, I assume, was born bald and wearing aviators, made his entrance into the world of journalism, having written a piece on The Hells Angels. His name was Hunter S Thompson and he was a man ahead of his time. Writing for Scanlan's Monthly - a short lived rag of a paper that ran for about a year before going belly up in 1971, he was a product of the 60s, an excessive drug fueled decade of madness and decadence and he intended to use the pent up fury of the great, failed social experiment of the prior decade to tear down the foundations of journalism and reforge it into a gleaming peyote titan known only... as Gonzo.

That, or he wrote the whole article on deadline day.

Thompson started his career as a sports reporter and had been sent to cover the Kentucky Derby. He and Ralph Steadman - a future collaborator who would illustrate much of Thompson's work and, indeed, had many of the same artistic goals as Thompson - spent their time in Louisville drinking ungodly amounts of liquor and ingesting just about every narcotic substance known to man. In this way, when they finally reached the race, they were able to shift their focus from the race - which was obscured from their perspective - and focus on the true spectacle: the crowd.

The decadent, mad, drunken idiots around them were like a twisted mirror and they were completely in awe of the madhouse carnival in which they found themselves. The dope hounds thrilled at the very sight of them and with the invaluable time spent amongst their fellow fiends, wrote The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved. With this article he forged what is now known as Gonzo Journalism.

I released my brother's tie from my grip at this point and lowered myself back into my chair, adjusting my fedora accordingly. "Well, Chris, that was a fun story I guess, but you didn't tell me how he's the best blogger who ever lived." Flicking my cigar ash into his brandy, I corrected him. "Oh, but Parker," I said slyly "have you not read this man's work? If so, have you failed to read a blog?" I asked. I could see the various gears and springs in his head - ticking, wirring, spinning. A hamster ran on a wheel in a tiny cage. One more inch, one more fucking inch.

"Oh my god."

I grinned. He had gotten it. He had gleaned what I had gleaned - that Gonzo and blogging really weren't so different - the first person, unedited accounts of a society moving too fast for its own common sense to catch up. Parker proceeded to stand at the table and shouted "Hunter S Thompson was the greatest blogger who ever lived!" Our fellow diners at the Sun Dial applauded us and we bowed as the manager approached, incensed and infuriated. "What is the meaning of this, you fiends!? Who are you people!?" He demanded. "Who we are is not important." I informed him. "You see, the greatest blogger in the world has shot himself today." I told him as I slipped him a C-Note for our meals. "And football season is over." With that, my brother and I straightened our ties and left the Sun Dial...

...never to return.


Dedicated to Hunter S Thompson. A bona-fide crazy, gonzo genius and a personal inspiration behind my writing.

01 December, 2011

I have the sick.

It's true, sadly. I am, today, horrendously ill.

However, I still care enough about you poor sods who read my page to inform you of this fact so that you might know why updates and new entries are less than punctual. You may rest assured, however, that as I experience non-illness related things, I will endeavor to bring them to your attention.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must nap.

26 November, 2011

So there I was, in Charleston!

People who know me might be vaguely aware that I spent these past few days in Charleston, South Carolina. All in all, it was a splendid time filled with good people, good company and good food; as Thanksgiving is wont to be.




While there, I was a guest at a condominium development that had mysteriously sprouted up in the time since I was there. I say it was mysterious, you see, due to the fact that the economy is all but dead. As it had been a scant year since my last stay, I see no reason nor means for this sizable property development to have come about.

Now, I must tell you of the many great meals. There was seafood presented to me upon my first night... and it was naff. I ordered a platter of fried shrimp and when it reached me - one and one half hours thence - it was both burned and cold. I was incensed and demanded that the chef commit seppuku. Sadly, he refused to comply and after denouncing the restaurant as a 'degenerate committee of arseless fuckwits', I was escorted from the premises. (Never eat at the Carolina Shrimp Company, in other words.) Dinner ended up coming down to this:


Awakening hours later with a satisfying hangover, I crashed into the living room of the condo where my family had assembled. Asking how my night was, I groaned something about politicians and profligacy, wishing my assorted relatives a happy Thanksgiving while procuring several strips of bacon and a pot of coffee from the adjoining kitchen to ease my headache. I returned to my bed chambers for a few hours to shower and emerged, as if from a cocoon, to stalk the Charleston afternoon on my way to my grandparents' house for a Thanksgiving feast. Having eaten entirely too much, I slept in the car that night.

The next day was one of snow cones on a freezing pier and the harassing of fellow tourists in the seaside community of Folly Beach wherein we stayed. My brother and I had a tremendous time of it, eating seaside pizza and calling people horrifying names - 'cuntmaster necrophile cumlord' being among them - and generally had a tremendous time. The day was concluded with fish and chips and a far too stuffed me.

Awakening today, I braved a car ride home filled with a dreadfully boring football game on the radio. I slept through most of it and I am sure this was the right thing to have done. All in all, it was a grand time. I only wish my lovely fiancee had been there to enjoy it with me.

23 November, 2011

22 November, 2011

I STOLE THIS

Россия!

IT BEGINS

Right. It's blog time again. Let's do this.

As I write this, the hour is late. The sun is sinking slowly over the horizon, the auburn-golden rays of fading light intruding into my dimly lit living room where I type this, aimlessly searching for a subject on which to write. Where can I possibly start? My still recent seeming engagement? My fledgling career as a writer of web articles and short fiction? My tri-state chain of family style restaurants, Smith's Country Fried Trough?

I could write an entry full of shout outs to my InterFriends: a shameless shoutout to Lyssa Bee and her "blog" is here offered. Perhaps, though, it would be best to regale you with a story of half truths and half lies to distract you from a world of unrest and strife.


It was many years ago in the glittering metropolis of Atlanta. It was Dragon*Con, and I and my assorted friends were making merry far past the time when sensible people who knew the feel of sunlight upon their cheeks - non nerds, we'll call them - would be asleep and not shotgunning their fourth Monster of the day. So it was me, Cody, Ricky, the Blind Wizard and the Jewel Thief. These were all friends of mine from my high school days, with the exception of the Jewel Thief who was a traveling vicodin salesman wishing only that we would buy from him some pills as was the Atlantan custom.

Having procured a large quantity of autographs and trinkets that day, we milled around the hotel lobby with the stormtroopers and the sexy Vulcan ladies, imbibing in ungodly and nearly lethal amounts of libation as I began to ramble about post-imperial India and how the lobby seemed to get "progressively more fucked up" as the eve-morning progressed. Adjusting his monocle, Cody informed me while he agreed with my sentiments, this was neither the time nor the place to discuss the backwardness of caste systems. "Felicia Day is here." He told me, clapping a hand on my shoulder "and she's wearing a cleavagy shirt." It was indeed rumored that she was weaving through the crowds in that very hotel and was near the repugnant duct-tape-bikini-women-who-had-no-business-wearing-duct-tape-bikinis-due-to-lard and at my wheelchair height, I'd be at perfect height to surreptitiously snap a picture.

There was no Felicia Day.

Having been sent by my "friends" on a drunken boob hunt, I was bewildered to find myself surrounded on all sides by pasty fat with a tremendous loss of sobriety due to vodka. Crying and dizzy, I somehow ended up in the hotel across the street playing Dungeons and Dragons with Robert Picardo. He rolled a High Elf archer. I was a Drow wizard. I then proceeded to throw up on the table and awoke in the Motel 6 several hours later.

Crying.

Wandering out into the orange safety light glow of the early morning, I smelled bacon and wandered into the nearest Waffle House. It was then that I noticed that I was still wearing my Soviet Army uniform - costume of that year - and the clientele were predominately Republican. I ate my fucking bacon anyway.

The point of the story is this: don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things. Thank you for your time.