"Hell is paved with good intentions." - Cicero

Monday, March 06, 2006

Blogger is Fucked

"One of the most feared expressions in modern times is 'The computer is down.'"
- Norman R. Augustine

So, Blogger decided to crash. Like, the whole fucking site when down for the count. And it was like this for a while. I've been meaning to update, but Blogger was . . . angry at me, I guess. I've toying with PK Hack lately. Nothing serious, just making Earthbound goofier. I had the idea of making a video game of my life, but that would take too much time and energy. Maybe during the summer. I'll need help though—maybe Geiger, Nolan, and Ryan. That'd be cool. Shit, we should do a Final Fantasy VI (III for you Japan-obsessed assholes) hack. That'd be beastly.

So, I had a thought today: according to religious people, God made man, but to what purpose? I mean, I asked a deeply . . . enthusiastic protestant that same question and they flipped. "God doesn't need a reason," they replied. Well, excuse me, but according to your textbook, The Holy Bible (King James Edition), he fuckin' does. According to you, God made man in his own image. Not his appearence, his image. Therefore, he shares the same mental characteristics of man. Now, all of mankind can agree upon one fact: everything has a cause. Even if someone put a slice of meat on their heat and declared themselves the ruler of the internet, the cause of it is they are fucked in the head. So, God had to have a reason for doing all this. Given that he allegedly made us in his image, then he's also selfish. Human beings are selfish. Our natural instinct, like all animals, is to make sure the individual survives. So, why the hell did he make us? My guess is that he was bored. He didn't do it for us, he did it so he'd have a few action figures to play with. God is most likely a 34 year-old, mentally handicapped, balding man, living in his parents house. Bim bam boom, bitch.

In the words of Westley, from The Princess Bride: "Truly you have a dizzing intellect." I'm just about worn out from ranting, so I'll leave you with the Elizabethan sonnet I'm turning into my British Literature teacher tomorow:
The chewy walrus lives inside my mind.
His tusks are as milky-white as your smile.
His silky skin reminds me of your face.
Not as brown and yours is cold as tile.

Dancing and clapping: the walrus at play.
The walrus barks, like an opera of love.
The one thing he can’t do is make you stay.
The walrus, being good, gives me a dove.

I wish the walrus would visit often.
But, alas, the world is very busy.
Thinking of your love makes my heart soften.
But I know I made you very dizzy.

You’ll never come back, you left with Cyrus.
But I’ll always have the chewy walrus.
I realize nothing rhymes with walrus, but I had to put that in there. God bless the chewy walrus, in all his glory and splendor.


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