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Thursday, September 25th, 2003
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BoCoBuX: Let's make a mafia.
CptRandom: technically, i'm already in one.
CptRandom: it's a hungarian mafia.
CptRandom: though none of the members are hungarian.
CptRandom: and I think we actually decided to make it in austria...
CptRandom: but it's a mafia nonetheless.
BoCoBuX: Well, let's make a mafia. Break your ties.
CptRandom: okay. let's do it.
BoCoBuX: Okay, what kind?
CptRandom: you were the one who wanted to make the mafia... you decide.
BoCoBuX: Okay, we're the d6 Mafia.
CptRandom: we throw d6s at people?
CptRandom: or are we made of d6s?
BoCoBuX: Yeah. I'm the don, you're my bitch, and we kill people.
CptRandom: cool. as long as I get to dress all sexy.
BoCoBuX: Like a sexy bitch, of course.
CptRandom: word. from now on, i'm gonna look like cathrine zeta jones in chicago.
CptRandom: with one of those long cigerette holders.
CptRandom: and a d6 shooting gun.
CptRandom: which is totally not gay.
BoCoBuX: Not at all.
CptRandom: because we kill people. Which is totally a not gay thing to do.
BoCoBuX: We need a big bruiser type we can call Hit Die, or HD for short. I'll be the laidback Don, 2d20.
CptRandom: ooh. and the doctor's name should be Fort Save.
CptRandom: every mafia needs a good doctor who's on the run from the law.
BoCoBuX: Very nice. You can be Read Lips, or Init.
CptRandom: he'll be young and handsome and dashing... I'll cheat on you with him... and you'll have him killed when you find out.
BoCoBuX: Fort Save is trashing around my INIT?!? I'll Critical Hit the bastard!
CptRandom: when did we decide on Init? I should be Charisma or some shit.
BoCoBuX: Nah, that's lame. Maybe Light Weapon, or Weapon Finesse. Or like, Rapid Shot or Innuendo.
CptRandom: Innuendo.
BoCoBuX: Yes, my darling Innuendo.
CptRandom: or Agile Reposite.
BoCoBuX: Riposte?
CptRandom: or whatever the hell the actual word is.
BoCoBuX: Innuendo obviously doesn't spell too well. Agile Riposte should be our foreign guy, the latin sexy type.
CptRandom: the other guy i'm sleeping with?
CptRandom: did i just get another member of the mafia killed?
BoCoBuX: Agile Riposte better have a good SWIM CHECK!
CptRandom: funny, that's the name of his sidekick.
CptRandom: who i'm probably also sleeping with.
BoCoBuX: Then Swim Check'll have to put a lot into tumble, because when I send over the DiceBoys, he'll need it.
CptRandom: I don't like this mafia anymore. I'm going back to my hungarian mafia. At least there I get to have a penis.
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Sunday, September 21st, 2003
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Wednesday, September 17th, 2003
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There's always a silver lining to every cloud. Like, take for instance, the bathroom. We're out of toilet paper, but hey, I had to take a shower anyways. C'mon, Archer!
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Tuesday, September 9th, 2003
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| Time: | 7:20 am. |
| Mood: |  confused. |
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Alright, say you have a bed.
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Say it's a king sized bed.
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Say that, upon this bed, lie a big ugly guy, a slim sexy girl, and a wee itty bitty ickle baby.
One would like to think it would go something like this.
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J N a
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J=Jonathan
N=Nicole
a=Archer
Right?
So, tell me, how did this happen?
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J
N A
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Friday, August 22nd, 2003
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Everyone's life is so horrible. Taken at face value, everyone's life looks like a trainwreck; tragedy upon tragedy mixed in with a nice gooey swirl of lodt hope and 'bitter vigilance'. Everywhere around me there's nothing but bitter spite of the world, the entire 'The World At Large Is Out To Get Me But I'm Going To Grit My Teeth And Be My Own Martyr', orTWALIOTGMBIGTGMTABMOM state of mind. Oh, you poor, sad little troopers; fight the good fight and I'm sure the World At Large will get off your back some day.
What I suppose I'm trying to get at is that we paint the background of our world. You can continue painting yours in blood red and stormy grey if you want, but I think I'm cool with a nice shade of light brown with a bit of blue. Not even blue; CERU-MUTHAFUCKING-LIAN. I'm going through the same problems everyone else is, believe it or not; we all are. Take all of your problems, jumble them around a bit, and you have someone else's. Agreed, perhaps the Jews in germany had a harder time than, say, your average teenage student, but THAT'S JUST THE POINT. There are millions of people out there going through worlds more pain than any of us are going through; you don't see them pulling their hair out, crying or kicking their feet. They grit their teeths, brace their knees and weather the storm. The TRUE martyrs.
So you won't be able to pay your bills, so you're getting fat. So you don't have a boyfriend, so you're getting kicked out of your house. So you and your mom got in a fight and ON TOP OF IT ALL YOU LOST YOUR NIRVANA CD, THE REAL EXPENSIVE RARE ONE.
So what?
I dunno, i think it all has to come down to a little thing I like to call FAITH. Of course it's easiest to attach this to some sort of spiritual entity, be it Allah, Buddha, Christ or Nature itself, but keep in mind you can always just trust to 'destiny' or 'fate'. You have to give yourself WHOLEHEARTEDLY and let go of any inhibitions because, believe it or not, you're not smarter than anyone, especially not those with deep faith. Get off of your high horse where you believe "Not even God has faced problems as deeps as Johnny cheating on me" and just open yourself up, be it to a religion or just to the winds of fate. Now, I'm of course not saying to hang up on bill collectors, let your relationship crumble around you, or to sit at your house doing nothing, entirely assured that money will magically appear, but WHAT I AM SAYING is that when problems do come about, you can save yourself, and all of your friends, a lot of stress by just smiling them down and handling them in a cool, collected manner. And no, biting down hard and sulking with a "Oh Great, ANOTHER PROBLEM, But I'm Not Going To Be A Bitch And Complain About It", or OGAPBINGTBABACAIT frame of mind, either. You have to honestly, sincerely and willingly be able to take any problem with a leisurely smile. Trust me, it pisses off stressers TO NO END, and might even make them want to try your way of living.
And this last bit goes out to everyone: You have too many people, every last one of you, who are depending on your success for your to trip and fall over the tiny speed bumps. Keep it together and prove to them that life isn't as hard as we all know it really is.
Oh, and one last th-OH MY GOD ARCHER IS CYRING WHAT DO I DO HOLY CRAP DID I CHANGE HIS DIAPER OH JESUS OKAY I GOTTA GO GUYS THE BABY'S YELLING UP A STORM DEAR GOD WHAT DO I DO-
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Monday, August 18th, 2003
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Tell Me A Secret.
Make it anonymous. I've turned the IP thing off, although I can't figure how to use IPs anyway. No advice. Maybe questions.
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Friday, August 15th, 2003
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| Time: | 8:32 am. |
| Mood: |  contemplative. | | Music: | Dashboard Confessionals - Shirts and Gloves. |
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I think about it sometimes, and I'm sure if I ever mustered up the energy, I would be the kind of bad guy who wanted to destroy the world, not take it over.
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Thursday, August 14th, 2003
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I sometimes fear that I might be liking all of these kid's shows more than Archer.
And he likes them a lot.
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Sunday, August 10th, 2003
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Hey let's make a webcomic. I need someone who can draw; i think chip's got that covered. Then I need someone who can handle servers and shit; I have no idea where that'll come from. And then I need someone to write funny shit; I know a few folks. We can all be rich!
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1.) If you could get some badass superpower like shooting yaks with mindbullets and shit, but to get the superpower, you'd have to be furry and blue and shit like the beast or nightcrawler, would you take it?
I'm hardpressed for an answer... the superpower I wanted was the ability to be furry and blue. For mein nehm is kuht vahg nah.
2.) Pants. What is your opinion of them?
They are, for the most part, overrated. I don't seriously believe we need to wear them as much as society tells us to. I mean, honestly; life just feels better when you're free balling. So, as long as there is no hot leather surfaces involved, I say no to pant wearing. Though pants in general? I still don't like em. Pants killed my older brother.
3.) If you had a robot to do your bidding, what would you name him, and would you give him sundays off for family time?
I would name him Wesley Major Major Major, and he would have Sunday off but wouldn't want to use it; he'd come in for work anyways. Cuz Wesley loves hissa massa, oh yeth he duth.
4.) If all the pepsi in the world came together to make a giant pepsi monster and all the coke in the world did the same thing and there was a giant battle, who would win, and would you drink the debris leftover liquid?
Coke would win, and no, because it'd all be dirty.
5.) Pie or cake?
....
....
.... pie.
THE RULES!
1 -- Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2 -- I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3 -- You'll update your journal with my five questions, and your five answers.
4 -- You'll include this explanation.
5 -- You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
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| Time: | 3:14 pm. |
| Mood: |  loved. |
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Man, seriously guys, Archer's the best. He's like a little brother, only made from my sperm. Double the excitement!
He and I just get along so well. We both believe heartily that the following formula can fully handle any situation.
You see something.
You point at it.
You yell at it.
Your charge and attack.
And with the simple solution, my friends, you too can reach the mountainous levels of zen I share with my son.
Nah, but seriously though, Archer's the bestest. You gotta give it up for a little guy like himself who will challenge a big guy like myself OVER AND OVER AGAIN and never give up. No matter how many power bombs, suplexes, or just plain lazy one handed football throws he takes, the little guy just gets right back up and hobbles over for more. He never quits until he wins, which he does, flopped over my belly, pinning my elephant-beast like form with his puny body.
I personally think that if Archer was sold in individual, single-serve miniwrapped portions, the advertising tagline would be something along the lines of:
"Archer: Wrestling tested, Kickbox approved."
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It's just wrong on a basic, primal, down-to-the-red-and-yellow-legos sorta way when they make me eat Jesus. It's just not right. Standing there, while the entire congregation sings along to "I'd rather have Jesus" as the pastors, guys in suits who I like to refer to as the JC Mafia, go about and pass out little cracker single served pre-divied up portions of the Lord God our Savior. Then they give you out the itty bitty cups of ChristJuice. The song ends, everyone gets quiet, someone blabbers something.
And then we eat him.
We, as a whole, all join in unison to simultaneously take a McGruff bite out of God. A few chews of the Alpha and a slurp of the Omega. And if consuming the Holiest of Holies wasn't enough there are the awkward side effects.
Perhaps I should explain a bit with a touch of backstory.
You see, whenever I go to see a movie I buy a soda and probably some nachos or a hot dog. . . but never popcorn. Why, do you ask? Because those deliciously artificial puffs of gold get stuck in my deliciously cavernous teeth. Perhaps you can see where I'm going from here, but for those men or women who are lay (and, to be pc, for those who are stand) I'll spell it out.
I don't like getting Jesus stuck in my teeth.
I mean, what are you supposed to do? Honestly? Do you reach in with your fingers between your pearly whites to pluck free a few rogue flecks of Salvation? Is that bad? Are you technically denying yourself Christ? I wonder if perhaps you need to use some different type of floss or toothpaste to get He Who Is out. Like... Christgate or something. And since you can only find yourself saved by putting God in your mouth, do you have to eat the stale cardboard Christ flake? You can't spit it out, right... because that's blasphemy.
And then, of course, as you swallow down the few remaining microscopic tidbits of Jesus, you get to wash him down with the blessed liquid: Welch's Grape Juice. If only we fully harnessed the divine capabilities of fruit juice, we would've easily reached global conversion of religion to Christianity. I mean, were we to broaden our horizons beyond fruit juice, we could have the Kool-Aid guy crashing through walls of Purgatory to smite the devils of thirst with a cool blast of JesusJuice.
Oh yeah.
Though honestly though, I think I'm done. My tummy hurts, because Jesus's armpit, or whateve rpiece of him I ate, gave me indigestion. You'd think they could at least check the expiration date on that God before they gave it to us faithful, you know?
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Saturday, June 21st, 2003
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| Time: | 8:34 pm. |
| Mood: | Smashy.. |
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So, yeah. Righty o.
I think I'm going to go ahead and make this journal completely and entirely buggery foolishnes slike it has been for the past couple of months. It's funner that way. I'm thinking about putting the other posts I made, all of the dark "prince of agony" melodramatic ones on another lj where I can play out the entire 'one winged angel fallen from Heaven" ordeal that it seems every boy-into-man has trapped in their inner psyche. So, goodbye emo knight, hello viking fob.
viking fob ninja.
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Saturday, June 14th, 2003
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H. Aitch. Eitch. Aytch. I just don't get it.
The letter A is pronounced 'Ae'. The letter S is pronounced "Ess". We have the letter R as "Ar" and Q as "Kyu".... so why doesn't H sound like H?!?
We'd have to, as a world, agree to changing it, probably to "Huh" or "Heh". I mean, ti would be the only way to make it make sense, right, to make sure every letter followed the name pattern. I mean, when we say heifer we don't say eitcheffer.
But then again I suppose we'd have to change W, too, because you don't say dubbleyuallrus or 'dubbleyuho's pants are these?'
Dubbleyu ho's. Now that's a post in itself.
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Wednesday, June 11th, 2003
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She's beautiful as usual with bruises on her ego and
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Man, I am seriously in need a jobz0r. I mean, all I end up doing day by day is sitting around, playing with Archer, chatting online, and making up weird posts like that one. I need to get into college, get back into acting classes. It was all so much fun then, and life was a thrilled chase, not a stoppered bottle. On another note, Tom Waits rules and Gary Jules lost his glasses.
His Moby glasses.
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And you open the door and you step inside. We're inside our hearts. Now imagine your pain as a white ball of healing light.
That's right, your pain, the pain itself, is a white ball of heling light.
.I.don't.think.so.
This is your life, goodtothelast drop. It doesn't get any better than this.
This is your life, and it's ending won min it atta thyme.
This isn't a seminar, this isn't a weekend retreat. Wherever you are now you can't even imagine what the
bottom
will be like.
Only after disaster can you be ressurected .
It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything .
Nothing is st tic. Everythi g is apall ng. Ev ry t ing is fa lin apa t.
ThisIsYourLifeThisIsYourLifeThisIsYourLifeThisIsYourLife
Doesn't get any better than this.
ThisIsYourLifeThisIsYourLifeThisIsYourLifeThisIsYourLife
and itand it's ending won min it atta thyme.
You are not a -/beautifulandunique/- snowflake. You are the same -/decayingorganic/- matter as everyone else.
We are: all part of the same compost heap
the all singing all dancing crap of the world.
You are not:
You are not your fucking khakis.
You have to give up. .pu evig ot evah uoY
You have to realize that some day you will die
Until you know that, you are useless.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) i say "let me never be complete."
i say "may I never be content."
i say "deliver me from swedish furniture." i say "deliver me from clever art."
i say "deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth."
i say ".pu evig ot evah uoY"
i say "evolve, and let the chips fall where they may."
I want you to hit me as hard as you can. I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
Welcome to fight club. =)
If this is your first night, you have to fight.
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cynical.