It has been stated - by me - that the most useful information is that which might be absorbed quickly. Whether true or not is irrelevant, because it gives me a great excuse for this article. You see, ever since Benjamin Franklin was alive, authors who liked to espouse their wisdom would put themselves in the habit of forming small, useful tidbits of advice. This is all well and dandy, and if I'm to be any sort of decent writer for you people I ought to do the same.
Herewith, some things you can read as I attempt to satisfy my ego and sound wise.
Bad advice is seldom profited from.
Senility is like life's version of the music speeding up when you run out of time in Mario.
Why walk when you can run? For that matter, why run when you can wheelchair?
Nobody likes an asshole. People assume they're full of shit.
If you know an obscure language, you can be rude to anyone and pass it off as a complement.
Wordcraft is a much easier way to project an air of wisdom than warcraft.
Good advice is seldom profited from.
Blocking a bullet is like pissing off Lyssa Bee: Anyone can do it once, but to do it twice is an impossibility.
Drinking until you black out is time travel for the Bohemian.
Si intellegis, quam tu mihi lingua mortua.
Once bitten, twice burned, thrice ointmented.
Never bring a knife to a gun fight. Conversely, always endeavor to bring a gun to a knife fight.
It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a trailer park to raise a child poorly.
College is much akin to a trip to Vegas. In certain circles, it will do much for your reputability - but the most lasting gift it gives you is tremendous debt.
No one will remember anything that happened today in twenty years, so go ahead and have that extra shot.
They've never jailed anyone for vandalizing a graffiti mural.
To be quoted repeatedly is to attain immortality.
So there you have it, a collection of aphorisms that you can use to impress your friends! I must stress that you use these at wedding toasts, dinner parties and society occasions with all of your rich, bon-vivant friends. While I can truthfully guarantee that no one has ever been fired or lost a friendship over my aphorisms and advice, I do not think any of my competitors in this field can make this same claim.
Incidentally, if anyone *does* quote me, I'd like to hear about it. Surely one of you - Brugman - has a big academic paper to write, right? Slip one of my aphorisms in there and I can guarantee wholeheartedly and with crossed fingers that your professors and readers will love you forever.
But for now, I must adjourn. Duty calls and Darth Malak won't kill himself.
EDIT: If you somehow managed to find my blog through some place that isn't Google Plus, go here and here to hear my good friend, Lyssa Bee, at Loud Noises! read this post.
27 September, 2012
26 September, 2012
[spoilers]
Welly welly well well, old friends. The time has come around again, hasn't it? Put on your best festive cape because it is once again time for me to update my blog. I envy you, really, because you get to sit and read all the wonderful little things I have to say and grow all the more content inside for having poured over them.
It's like an early Christmas.
Lately, I have been tremendously ill. While ill, however, my thoughts were always of you, the reader, and many of those thoughts were actually quite pleasant. They involved, where I can speak of them, writing more things for you to read and devising new concepts to write about: weed and Halo and linear mass accelerators and even a bit about a leprechaun named LaDarius who liked to compose epic hour long lyrical ballads about the ultimate futility of war. I bandied about continuing my space horror epic or about trying to commit to Internet all of the marvelous untold tales of Hallowed Berkeley, but ultimately these ideas were considered by the Committee for What Pantsy is Writing About Today to be inappropriate for the current world and were unceremoniously dropped until the next plenary meeting of the Politburo.
However, I could not leave you wonderful, horrible people with nothing to read about after my convalescence, so I endeavored to produce for you all some article of appreciable length which you might consume and think about and use as further evidence for the validity of misanthropy, or, at the very least, mispantsthropy.
And then it hit me.
Like a pallet of bricks or a burlap sack full of retarded puppies dropped from a bridge on high, it hit me. Why not write a blog entry about nothing? I could merely procrastinate in pose and drag it out for as long as I possibly could and I could wrap it in well constructed, dry, sarcastic prose as to make the reading an altogether bearable experience whilst at the same time passing it off as some sort of literary statement - a condemnation of the lack of substance in modern "literature," for example.
Brilliant! Visionary! Accomplished!
These are just a few of the accolades which my ego assured me I would win from my peers by the composition of such a work. The very thought of such a thing made me grin in anticipation of the Pulitzer I would most deservedly win for this work. All I had to do was compose it, and before I knew it my night of mild drinking was wearing off and that's exactly what I was doing.
Oh, but how would I handle the shift in tense? Things had gone from observing the past to thinking about it as I wrote it. It was a troubling time, to be sure, and I had no idea how I could handle this. Perhaps I could just ignore it? I could attempt to do this subtly, but those who know me know that this is not my modus operandi, and so I fear I can't use it here without raising eyebrows.
Regardless, that's a problem of the past, I think, for most people reading this have by now probably noticed that I am now in the presence tense. And as I type this, all sense of cohesion and substance that might have existed before have bled from the paper. This 'experimental writing' thing is utter bollocks. I think I may have been trying to play this Gonzo, but I'm not sure. Sarcastic Gonzo? Someone find out if that's a thing. As for me? I'm doing stuff now. Go away.
It's like an early Christmas.
Lately, I have been tremendously ill. While ill, however, my thoughts were always of you, the reader, and many of those thoughts were actually quite pleasant. They involved, where I can speak of them, writing more things for you to read and devising new concepts to write about: weed and Halo and linear mass accelerators and even a bit about a leprechaun named LaDarius who liked to compose epic hour long lyrical ballads about the ultimate futility of war. I bandied about continuing my space horror epic or about trying to commit to Internet all of the marvelous untold tales of Hallowed Berkeley, but ultimately these ideas were considered by the Committee for What Pantsy is Writing About Today to be inappropriate for the current world and were unceremoniously dropped until the next plenary meeting of the Politburo.
However, I could not leave you wonderful, horrible people with nothing to read about after my convalescence, so I endeavored to produce for you all some article of appreciable length which you might consume and think about and use as further evidence for the validity of misanthropy, or, at the very least, mispantsthropy.
And then it hit me.
Like a pallet of bricks or a burlap sack full of retarded puppies dropped from a bridge on high, it hit me. Why not write a blog entry about nothing? I could merely procrastinate in pose and drag it out for as long as I possibly could and I could wrap it in well constructed, dry, sarcastic prose as to make the reading an altogether bearable experience whilst at the same time passing it off as some sort of literary statement - a condemnation of the lack of substance in modern "literature," for example.
Brilliant! Visionary! Accomplished!
These are just a few of the accolades which my ego assured me I would win from my peers by the composition of such a work. The very thought of such a thing made me grin in anticipation of the Pulitzer I would most deservedly win for this work. All I had to do was compose it, and before I knew it my night of mild drinking was wearing off and that's exactly what I was doing.
Oh, but how would I handle the shift in tense? Things had gone from observing the past to thinking about it as I wrote it. It was a troubling time, to be sure, and I had no idea how I could handle this. Perhaps I could just ignore it? I could attempt to do this subtly, but those who know me know that this is not my modus operandi, and so I fear I can't use it here without raising eyebrows.
Regardless, that's a problem of the past, I think, for most people reading this have by now probably noticed that I am now in the presence tense. And as I type this, all sense of cohesion and substance that might have existed before have bled from the paper. This 'experimental writing' thing is utter bollocks. I think I may have been trying to play this Gonzo, but I'm not sure. Sarcastic Gonzo? Someone find out if that's a thing. As for me? I'm doing stuff now. Go away.
13 September, 2012
New PC and Voice Acting
Why, hello friends. It's your old friend Comrade Pants. Would you people like to know what rustles my jimmies? Dell. Yes, Dell. You know, I really should have expected a laptop which was essentially a cheap-ass tablet PC to die at any moment. I certainly should not have used it as a primary computer for four years, but I suppose that's how life goes, isn't it? On occasion you'll have money. A responsible choice of a new PC will present itself.
However, the responsible choice is not firearms and booze and debauchery. No, these are the 'fun' choices, and it was those choices that led me to where I was not too long ago. You see, when my computer finally entered that stage where all it will let you do is enter safe mode and get your shit out, well, let's just say that that's what you find yourself doing.
All is not lost, however, as I've got a netbook. However, this has made my writing take something of a hit. Fortunately, I have been making great strides in voice acting as a career pathway. For example, I'm doing a bit of practice rendering this article in something of an estuary English brogue. I shall put a link below and hope that you all find it worth your time to indulge in.
THIS IS MY NORMAL VOICE, YOU FOOLS. THIS IS. <-Linky slinky
However, the responsible choice is not firearms and booze and debauchery. No, these are the 'fun' choices, and it was those choices that led me to where I was not too long ago. You see, when my computer finally entered that stage where all it will let you do is enter safe mode and get your shit out, well, let's just say that that's what you find yourself doing.
All is not lost, however, as I've got a netbook. However, this has made my writing take something of a hit. Fortunately, I have been making great strides in voice acting as a career pathway. For example, I'm doing a bit of practice rendering this article in something of an estuary English brogue. I shall put a link below and hope that you all find it worth your time to indulge in.
THIS IS MY NORMAL VOICE, YOU FOOLS. THIS IS. <-Linky slinky
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