So I was sitting around today doing my usual activities - cashing large checks, writing novels, saving the world, etc - when a thought occured to me. I have no idea what sort of beer the Internet prefers!

So I thought I'd end my self imposed exile to ask you lot a simple question. What beers are you people drinking? To start, my two favorites:



and



Finally, I have a bottle of expensive, imported German beer that I've yet to drink. What can you lot tell me about...

The Vidya Gaem Musix

You know what? Fuck whatever anyone has to say against it. New Vegas was the greatest Fallout game of all time. Search your feelings, you know it to be true.

Anyway, there was a song in the game that - despite my disdain for 99% of all country music - I can never seem to get out of my head. To that end, here are the lyrics to Lone Star.



I can see that lone star from a thousand miles away,
Calling me back home though I’ve ventured far astray.
When I see that beacon shining for me all alone,
It calls me back to Texas and to home.

Lone star shine down on my home town -
Fill my memory light my way!

Cattle in the old corral, the open range all ’round -
Sunlight and the smell of new mown hay.
I remember though I’ve wandered and much happiness I’ve found,
Still I wish that I could be back there today!

I know my home is waiting for me by the river shore,
I know that all the ones I love will welcome me once more.
In dreams I see them now though it seems I’m bound to roam,
My thoughts are still of Texas and of home.

Cattle in the old corral, the open range all ’round -
Sunlight and the smell of new mown hay.
I remember though I’ve wandered and much happiness I’ve found -
Still I wish that I could be back there today!

I know my home is waiting for me by the river shore,
I know that all the ones I love will welcome me once more.
In dreams I see them now though it seems I’m bound to roam,
My thoughts are still of Texas and of home.

The Rome Rant

This past weekend, with far too much free time on my hands and in desperate search of something fun to do with my out of town company for the weekend, I quested to the local mall and proceeded to demonstrate to my good friend a particularly entertaining store that was contained within.

This store was full of cosplaying things - steampunk coats and pirate dusters and replica robes and Jedi robes and the like; as well as accouteraea such as Star Trek flasks and sonic screwdrivers. It was while showing my friend this wonderful store and bragging about the fact that his lousy Citadel mall in Charleston had nothing like this that I saw it: a stunning replica of a galea that might be worn with segmentata iorica behind a display case full of replica Civil War firearms and knives. In layman's terms, it was a Roman army helmet.

Now, those that know me as my good friend Elisabeth know me can tell you that I have something of a minor... major... obsessive fascination with Rome, both Res Publica Romana and Imperium Romanum. Hell, I'm even interested in the Basileia Rhomaion - that is, the Byzantine continuation of the Roman Empire - of the East. To see such a replica there before me was quite a treat, even if I had no Earthly way to afford such a thing.

I inquired with the shopkeep about the thing, in my haste forgetting that not everyone is as familiar with Rome as am I and drew a strange look from her. "I've never heard anyone actually call this thing what it actually is." She said, revealing that she was a fan of Rome on HBO and, despite her attempts to get into it, found the newer Spartacus series to be somewhat lackluster.

It was while discussing this that I suddenly felt a deep and unabating sadness in my heart. Rome gets nowhere near the attention it deserves in schools anymore, it seems. In American textbooks, when I was a child, Rome would get a passing paragraph in World History. Sure, we got to read all about the influences of Rome on our legal system and our society years later in High School, and this may all be able to be chalked up to a grievous deficiency in Southern United States education, but all the same it seems wrong.

The history of Rome is, in essence, the story of how we got where we are. Further, it serves as an invaluable mirror through which we may examine ourselves. For example, we would do well to remember the courage of Titus Herminius Aquilinus in keeping his homeland safe, the Roman virtues of Seneca, and, most important, perhaps - and perhaps the reason we teach history in the first place - the mistakes of Rome; arrogance, complacency, avarice. These are lessons which are seemingly forgotten by the newest generation of movers and thinkers - of which I am a part - that is moving swiftly to fill the shoes left to us by our forefathers.

Furthermore, is it too much to ask for Latin to return to schools? I remember listening with envy when my parents would describe taking Latin in school - public school. It gave my father an excellent starting point from which to learn Spanish and my mother derived much of her knowledge of French from that grand old tongue. Further, it is used in medicine, law, astronomy, and so many more sciences. An understanding of Latin can be a gateway to so much more.

It was as I pondered these things, leaving the shop, that I gave a sigh. We could be so much more, I think, if we were more aware of our past. It's why I take it upon myself to pour over all the information about Rome that I can get my grubby mits on and why you should, too.

Is there a point to this? Can I properly end an article where all I do is rant and muse?
The answer, friends, to both of these questions... is no. Ta!

This post was originally written on the 28th of February for my dear friend Elisabeth's blog: Shenanigans and Excitement! It is reprinted here to distract from the lack of new, meaningful content.

My Thoughts on Kony Slacktivism.

All this "Kony" BS just highlights how fickle people are.
Was everyone blind to child soldiers before this?
No.
Will an awareness campaign to alert the public to an issue they knew full well about but did absolutely nothing to help, solve the issue?
No.

Everyone is so quick to jump on a bandwagon and show how much of a good human being they are because they wear a t-shirt or post a status on Facebook while doing nothing to get to the root of the problem or address the issue.

What is truly sad is that when people get bored of the issue they forget about it entirely and move on to another feel good cause the same way they move onto a new fashion trend. This month's child soldiers is next month's South American deforestation.

Stay classy 1st world.

-/b/

This Kony2012 business is all well and good. I'm all for making tyrants and murderers pay for being tyrants and murderers. However, social media won't do anything towards arresting Kony. After all, if the people who've wanted him dead for all these years can't get him, what good will a little slacktivism do?

People mindlessly throwing their attention to whatever trendy fad cause someone shits out is far from productive. If you want to do a good turn for the world, you need to pick something, focus on it, and spend YEARS of HARD WORK on the subject. Just watching some over produced shitty video designed specifically to tug at your heart strings won't do shit. "But I'm spreading awareness!" You say? Horse shit.

Awareness doesn't do a damned thing beyond letting people think they're doing something when, in reality, they're just in a massive hipster circle jerk patting themselves on the back and pretending to be globally conscious.

Tell you what. You know who made your clothes? Your phone? Your computer? Child slaves in China and Indonesia. Where's the outcry about that? Are you going to change your profile picture? Want to post a video about it? Oh, make us aware. That will fix everything. Except it won't.

If you aren't willing to actually physically help things and want to pay it off to the next person down the line, essentially what slacktivism does, then you aren't helping. Besides that, there's literally nothing we can do. All awareness is going to do is make yet another thing for hipsters who pretend to give two shits about the world something to talk about for a week as they drink their non fair trade coffee, in their child labor produced name brand clothes as they type on their overpriced, slave produced electronics.

We're all part of the problem and unless you're completely willing to give up living in the first world there is literally nothing you can do about it.

Food for thought, readers. Food for thought. /rant

I have a secret shame that I must confide in someone - anyone - and since no one reads this blog, it may as well be here. For a few years now, I've followed the life and times of a bizarre, strange Internet creature. His name is Christian Weston Chandler, and his weird psyche and unusual behaviors will elicit shock, dismay, pity and amusement. It is the strangest sort of schadenfreude, watching this manchild as he screams at the Internet.

Enough people by this point have talked about him that to add my own opinion would likely be futile. All I can do... is point you to the extensive wiki.

I'm Offended!

So I was reading a blog - this one, to be exact - and I thought of something. Notice how there's a disclaimer at the top of the article? Let me quote, here, if you're too lazy to click it. "Warning: This post may contain language that is offensive to some." Since when do we treat offense like it's some kind of radioactive isotope? Why do we, as a collective whole, get so paranoid about hurting people's feelings? There's no right in this nation not to be offended.

You see, I'm in a wheelchair but I say cripple all the time. I'm a self described cripple. I, frankly, don't have time to be offended and anyone who hates me simply for the fact that I'm in a wheelchair is quite obviously feeble minded and their opinion - therefore - is not worth consideration. See how easy it is? It's not a big fucking deal to hear cripple or faggot or nigger. Why should people let words hurt them? Grow a thicker skin and toughen up. Unless the Westboro Baptist Church or the fucking KKK are coming around shouting it at you, there's absolutely nothing to fear from a simple word.

What's even worse is the people who get offended but aren't even involved in the allegedly pejorative words being used. For instance, I was discussing European politics with some friends some time ago and the word 'Gypsy' came up. The whitest white guy I know, whose family has been in the States for generations and hasn't a drop of Roma in them, said that he found that word offensive and that the preferred term is 'Roma.' Really? Why should he be offended? Some times, I think this society goes way too far to try not to step on anyone's toes. It's okay, you know. They're just words. Toughen up and get on with it. Yes, that means you, the 'R' Word.

That's one I really don't understand. The term 'mental retardation' quite literally means a slowing of the mental faculties. It is an accurate descriptor and was even designed to be specifically politically correct. Do they think that by newspeaking the word away they can magically stop people from calling out their buddies for being stupid and acting like idiots? No! In fact, in the United Kingdom, children have already taken to using 'special' as an insult. It is an ultimately futile campaign and a downright waste of energy that could go to solving real problems that the mentally deficient face - things like lack of proper care and funding for special education and adult assistance. The reasoning for this futile campaign must be mindboggling.

Now, make no mistake. I am not a hateful man at all, here. I mean, my dearest and closest friend - other than my fiancee - is a bisexual woman. My fiancee herself is a minority - Chinese, in fact. I like to think I'm a very tolerant man and I believe that no one should be hated or reviled simply because of what they are. Still, being offended doesn't make you special. It's not like you taking offense at something suddenly gives you the right to silence someone else. We all have a right to say whatever we damn well please and if people don't like it, then they don't have to listen.

Anyway, that's my rant. Sound off in the comments if you have something to say about it. I need a drink.

Critique my writing!

I wrote this just now as a bit of flash fiction. Tell me what you think! It's extremely rough and has not been edited, but it's my first horror scifi so I thought I'd share.

////UNSMC VESSEL "UN PROSPERITY"
MISSION LOG: DATE UNKNOWN, 7.0012 CYCLES SINCE CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE
ENSIGN MARCUS NGERE - UNSMCID 232-191-000127, RECORDING

::LOG BEGINS::

"How long have I been out here?" That was the question which clung like an epoxy bonding agent to the forefront of
my mind. I stared out at the long hallway before me as I floated out of the dormatory ring of the ship, my stomach
churning at the onset of weightlessness, though the fact that I hadn't eaten in four cycles might have aided in this
condition.

Checking the computer junction's temporal readout between the dormatory ring and ops, I could see that seven cycles
had passed since we were hit by that... thing, causing a critical system failure, killing life support systems and
forcing a full reboot of all systems. We only had one working stasis pod. The crew elected to save me above all
the others. I had no idea how long I was out, but when the onboard computers woke me some time later, I felt like
death.

A klaxon sounded, alerting me to a fresh problem. Ring Charlie - the point of impact - had come back online.
It shouldn't have been possible, but I was curious and decided to investigate. I grabbed a tool belt and floated down
the corridor to the third ring of the ship.I opened the sealed access airlock, feeling the pressure drop slightly.
Ring Charlie had apparently only barely repressurized from it's exposure.

Realizing now that the size and scope of the damage might well still require attention, I removed the rivet gun and
repair sheet from the tool belt, hefting them both in my hands. Opening the interior door with my foot, I gingerly slid
down the ladder leading into the habitation ring. It was dim and dank, the enviornmental and lighting systems still
somewhat frazzled from the impact. I cursed a little, kicking myself for forgetting my flashlight. Regardless, I
pressed on into the twilight of the damaged ring, feeling around for an emergency light.

My boot slid as I stepped in a thick, gooey liquid. It must have been a coolant leak. I raised the rivet gun, priming
its CO2 pack and raising the aluminum repair sheet as I felt for the leaking pipe. I grabbed hold of a thick wire and
jumped slightly as it slipped away. It was somewhat sticky, pulling my hand for a distance and depositing it on a
switch. Shrugging, I flipped the switch, an illumination pod for an instrumentation panel.

There, in the pale starlight and sickly orange glow of the instrument panel was Crewman Jennings, staring me in the eye.
Strange tendrils fed into his skull and his mouth oozed a sickly green-red pus in ungodly quantities down his suit and
onto the floor. "It f-found us..." He - if he could truly be called a he anymore - sputtered as the lights in the ring
were slowly turned on in staggered succession. "J-join usss" he hissed, as the lights revealed the rest of the crew
behind him, all staring at me and revealing a writhing, loathsome organic mass plugging the impact hole.

I deposited every rivet in the gun in Jennings' face. The poor bastard went down but got right back up, shambling towards
me as I sprinted up the ladder, charging to Ring Echo - CIC - and barricading myself inside. I surveyed my surroundings:
the armory had already been nearly exhausted and bloody drag marks showed the fate of the last of the crew to have held
out.

At this point, death by exposure seems merciful. I sit here now, having barely powered on the subspace beacon. They're
beating on the door now, screaming... screaming the most horrible scream imaginable. I'm recording this log to let you
know there's no point in saving me. Avoid the UN Prosperity at all costs and send a naval vessel to burn this wreck out
of the sky. There must be no survivors. I found a Type 97 service pistol on the transmitter console with one round in
its magazine. I've racked the slide and I'm pointing at the glass. Wish me luck.

::LOG ENDS::
////WARNING: COMMAND RING DEPRESSURIZED
////SYSTEM ALERT: REQUEST TO LAUNCH COMMS BEACON WAS DENIED, LOG NOT TRANSMITTED
////DISTRESS CALL SENT, RESCUE PARTY REQUESTED


(EDIT: I've started posting this around various other places, so it will probably be reposted without credit if people like it enough. Just know, future readers, that I'm the original author and would like credit. Also, I don't plan to be so repost happy with the follow ups.)