Another year, another embedded video

Stick a fork in 2008, it's done. Let's hope 2009 is better, not that it'll have to try much. Still, for all it's worth, I wish you all, nay, command you to enjoy yourself this evening, and let's give the New Year a nice, warm, fuzzy welcome.

Manah manah.

Christmas carols

Some years ago, back in my studyin' days, I had a fierce argument with a friend regarding Fairytale of New York. She did not agree with my completely objective opinion that it is the greatest Christmas song ever made. I know! Crazy. Anyway, we were at this Christmas party down the local student pub. At closing time, they played this song, while shepherding everyone out, and suddenly we were this tiny group of strangers (we might have been just two, time's hard on the details), singing (sic) along to the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl. I think that made even my cynical friend succumb to the drunken joy of the Christmas spirit.

Yeah yeah, maybe not the bestest, most hilarious story ever told. Still, as memories go, it's kind of beautiful.



This next one is my dads favourite. You're probably wondering just what the hell goes on around my house during Christmas, but don't worry. My mum's got all that psalm stuff covered, and I just leave the room if anything resembling Wham comes on.



But now, perhaps, you're feeling a bit sad. Maybe some titties will cheer you up? It's time for a completely different kind of Christmas tune.



Well, that sure ended abruptly. Before I leave you all to your fatty foods and expensive presents, we still have time for one more, right? Yeah, we'll always have time for Billie. And if anyone wants to argue about whether it's about Christmas or not, they've missed the point in a spectacular way.



Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Way Back Home

Just for the record: My homestead is such a major metropolis that fighter jets perform high-risk excercises just above grond level here. True story! I'm told this is because we're not actually on any of the respectable maps, only the rebellious, dangerously unstable ones. I spoke with a government representative about this, and he replied, with a confused look, "what? You mean there's people up there? Like in that movie, The Hills Have Eyes?". At this point, I did what any reasonable person would do: I sighed, rolled my eyes, and went home to duck and cover whenever those damn planes show up.

Anyway, all this is probably the reason why I feel so at home in the Capital Wasteland. It's just like home, with added dismemberment. And better music. In fact, the music in Fallout 3 is nothing short of spectacular (although I should probably point out that the dude in that video is not, in fact, Bob Crosby). The best music ever included in a computer game? You betcha. Just think about it: How many games make you sing happily along with lines like "pretty flowers need the sun", while splattering giant mutants into bloody little bits with a portable nuclear weapon? It's pure magic. Besides, having been exposed to her heavenly vocals, I now want to dig up the corpse of Billie Holiday and marry it in Vegas.

That can't be normal.

Commercial Break

We interrupt this lack of updates in order to bring you IMPORTANT NEWS.

Audiosurf is now available through Steam for $2.49, this week only. Insanity! That's the price of a cucumber! And perhaps a tomato. Still cheap, I say. If you own a PC at all and don't absolutely loathe music of all kinds, you really shouldn't let this one slip by. Why? I'll tell you why, you slobbering monkeys:

Because Audiosurf is awesome.

In fact, it may well be the most awesomest thing since ever. There's a demo to be tried, but trust me: You will love it, unless you are completely dead inside.

Or, y'know, just plain dead.

In which case, I really hope you're not reading this over my shoulder.

Meet Sylvia

The first time I attempted suicide was at the age of seven. This teacher, this complete bastard who I only ever knew by his last name (mr. Morris, I think) had told me I was fat and stupid. So I found a knife somewhere and cut myself. It's weird, I don't really think I knew what suicide meant at that time, it was just some stupid shit I'd seen at some TV show or other. Luckily, said stupid show had shown the girl slash across her wrist, rather than along the vein, which I know now is the sensible thing to do if you want to kill yourself (I've since discovered a passion for the subject, obviously).

Anyway, to get back at the teacher I accused him of attempting to rape me, which, under the circumstances, people immediately believed. Why else would a seven-year-old try to off herself, right? Of course, it didn't stick, but at least the prick never got to work as a teacher again. Looking back, I'll admit it was maybe a bit harsh, but then again he was a major asshole, and thus it can be seen as a service to humanity, of sorts. I mean, seriously, you just don't tell an overweight, somewhat slow seven year old girl that she's fat and stupid. The whole thing, the accusation, was my older sisters idea, by the way. She was beautiful, twice my age at the time. I've since outlived her, but I guess I'll be getting to that in a minute.

I don't think that's where my obsession with suicide started, though. At least I didn't try it again until I was about 13. If you thought the Morris incident was the last of my weight and intelligence being the object of mockery, then you would be wrong. I heard it every day for six fucking years. One day I just had enough, friendless as I was at the time. I had the house to myself for a weekend, and (somewhat embarrassingly) I lighted a ton of candles in the bathroom and tried to drown myself. Now, you're probably picturing a bunch of pills lying on the floor, or an empty bottle or bag of weed or something. But no, I tried to hold my head under water and breathe. Didn't work. I told you it was embarrassing, but give me a break, I was just a clueless kid back then.

Instead of trying again, I decided to go anorexic. Worked a charm. Almost killed me though, so I guess that could be labeled as attempt number three? Doesn't really matter, I'm still alive, after all. I tried improving my grades, as well. I did feel better about myself for a while, got some friends. And then - do you fucking believe it? My stupid sister, who I'd adored all my life, who'd always protected me, who was the perfect picture of mental health, goes and offs herself. I mean, I'd tried this shit three times already, without success, and she gets it right the first time? Still pisses me off. I probably don't need to tell you this, but the whole thing left me just a bit unstable.

I took a boy to get me going again, though. He was actually a real bitch, but I puppy loved him like some pathetic cartoon character. I only talked to him the one time, he crushed me completely, and I ended up on this tall fucking bridge. Broke both my legs, but survived, yet again. In the hospital I got a lot of time to think. You're probably rolling your eyes at this, but the whole ordeal actually taught me a lot about love, and how sceptical you have to be when dealing with it. During those few weeks I changed a bit, became less shy (or possibly just a bit more reckless, but I guess that's the same thing, really). I started working out a lot also, even after my legs had recuperated. I've always been a bit vengeful, and if my sister'd been alive she'd probably come up with something cruel and sneaky (she was lovely that way). But me, I just wanted to beat the shit out of the little bitchboy. I did, eventually, and accidentally made him a cripple. Yeah, accidentally, I swear! Made me feel good at the time, though.

This was the first time someone connected my dots, by the way. Made me go to therapy and all that fucking jazz. So, you're not my first, sorry. Anyway, despite all the commotion, I felt better about myself than ever before. I was even beginning to like life a little. So, you're probably wondering, like, why does she do this, why does she still want to end it all, right? After all, I've a dozen or so attempts to my name since then. The truth is, I don't want to, right? I just want to, you know - . You know?

The thing is, every time I've tried to kill myself, it's changed me. I've become a better person. More sure of myself, more self-aware. And that's why I do it. It's a way of self-improvement, kind of. Probably some sort of addiction as well, I don't know. But now, you know, my life is good. I love life right now. I want to stop, but I can't. I want to stop because one day I'll make it, I'll actually succeed at it, yeah? And I don't want to. Not anymore.

A Design for RL

Being a teacher is like being a GM in the MMO of Life. Everyone started out as newbs, barely knowing the EULA, and then one day we hit the endgame and got bored. Of course, a lot of people didn't, they'll probably keep raiding and PVPing until they die. But for some of us, there was rekindled interest when we were given the opportunity to oversee fresh n00bs, struggling to level up. So some made alts, because there's been a lot of content patches, bugfixes and expansions since the last time we played. Others are holding out because we remember what a chore it sometimes could be. Those of us are not all that excited about the prospect of watching our chi.. 'scuse me, our alts, go through that endless, meaningless grind of Life. The idea of following them DING!ing their way through levels, defeating mobs and collecting loot as they go, is alluring enough, surely. But we know that it'll occupy and eradicate our own spare time, leaving no time for all those single-player games collecting dust on our shelves. And so I, at least, am content just to watch, and hopefully sometimes guide, with no strings attached.

I just wish I could turn off general chat. That's one area where art actually pwns life.

Meet Marvin

A sunny day in august it suddenly hit Marvin: He wasn’t fighting lazyness or indifference. His real problem was a subconscious desire to self-destruct. He always paid his bills too late, even though he considered himself a punctual guy. He wasn’t a wrist-cutter either, yet every time he chopped his precious tomatoes he stared a good long while at the knife, transfixed. Every single night, as he immersed his face in the basin water, he fantasized of raising his head to see the darkened outline of a serial killer behind him in the mirror.

Suicide, naturally, was not an option. He knew he was imploding, gradually, that he just had to wait for insanity, or something else entirely, to set in. It could take years, the thought of which completely exhausted him. In the meantime, his entire purpose of existence was simply passing time. Getting a job, paying the bills (even if he never did it on time) was simply a result of his ever-diminishing sense of self-preservation, as well as his inexplicable need to calm everyone around him. The effect was astounding. Even if he stated his general infuriation with life every other time he spoke with someone, his family and friends were completely hypnotized by him seemingly contributing to society three times a week by pushing paper in the company of liars like himself. Work also served as a sort of smokescreen, a way to sometimes fool himself into believing he could make it through, survive existence unscathed. But the illusion always faltered, since it failed to provide any sort of long-term satisfaction. Like everything else occupying his drained mind, the pleasure he gained from structure was short-lived.

Despite all of his undirected hatred, though, he didn’t really have any problems getting through most days. He was easily distracted, which meant he counted on TV every weekday afternoon, and obscene amounts of alcohol every weekend. Of course, his newfound realization could possibly upset this fragile balance. Previously, on his life, he had considered his negative impulses perfectly compatible with a relatively normal lifestyle. He’d never been at odds with himself, or so he had always assumed. Self-destruction, self-hatred manifested, was simply unacceptable. Apathy, laziness; these things he could fight, and he tried to, every single day. How could he combat himself? If every action he took was subconsiously meant to hinder his own happiness, how could he reconcile this with taking any action at all? If his actual purpose in life was to undermine his own ambition, how could he justify having ambitions at all? How would he separate the things that would serve his stated goal of survival, and those self-delusions designed to endorse his own misery? He wasn’t simply killing time anymore, his prey, it had finally become clear, was his own self-respect and fragile state of contentment. It was a mess.

After a long, good think, Marvin decided to not do anything that might be a hidden move by his subconscious to subvert his being again. So he quit his job, stopped paying his bills and decided to never leave his apartment again. He would be damned if he would let himself ruin his life.

Chicks With Pixels (part two)

(Continued from part one)

In fact, the entire concept of "adult content" must have taken the wrong turn somewhere as it drove into Videogame City, and, as usual, it pisses me the fuck off. Yet another brainless adolescent fantasy paraded as a work of fucking art. I call bullshit. The Longest Journey, in it's day, was one of the few games to sprinkle the word "fuck" among its many lengthy dialogues, and it was heavily berated for it. Although this was done rather clumsily, the effort was still applaudable. Since the people using the word were meant to be crude bastards (not actually villains, though), its use was firmly placed in the corner of characterization, not attention whoring. Later games fared worse (Fiddy, I'm looking at you). When vulgar elements are used without (rhyme or) reason, you stop looking like a pro and start looking like a jackass (pun very much intended). This goes for all art forms. Even good B-films know this, for proof, watch preacher man Harvey Keitels reaction when asked if he's a "mean motherfucking servant of God" in From Dusk Till Dawn; he answers using the same wording, but censoring the "motherfucking" part. I'm not saying all game writers should try to be Tarantino (actually, please God no! Imagine Kratos going on about Medusa pussy for forty fucking hours), but would it kill them to insert some actual wit in their dialogue once in a while?

The routine answer to accusations of immaturity in games is that it's a young medium. Well, guess what? You're not fucking eight years old anymore, in case you forgot. As an example, Loom, made in 1990, is a game that much more mature than most made today, it makes you wonder if "games are art" will ever be anything but a joke to all the random people (it probably won't, by the way). But let's leave the swearing and even the violence for some other time, and focus on the wish fulfillment, or, more specifically: The woman parts. Yeah! I knew that would wake you up.

It's a fact (sorry ladies, but I sincerely hope this does not come as a surprise to anyone) that most games are made by men, for men (or rather, boys, but let's postpone that discussion). This creates some interesting situations. You see, some games, notably role-playing games (which includes both WoW and AoC), allow you to choose the gender and appearance of your avatar (the character representing you on the screen) yourself. Dilemma! Do you create a woman, so you get a nice ass to look at while trudging about these endless MMO worlds (AoC even lets you choose your own breast size! Now I know why I stopped playing WoW), or a man, which, after all (assuming you are one in real life), is a tad bit more representative? Personally, I think it's far too bizarre talking to a man through a female avatar, so I always make men in MMO's (insert wish fulfillment joke here, har har, fuck off). In singleplayer games, it's a whole different set of problems. I'd naturally prefer to run around for hour upon hour with a more-or-less-abstract representation of bootylicious female curves, but the story keeps getting in my way. I must admit I find it somewhat disturbing being forced into romantic relationships with a large, dreadlocked negro man, even if it's just for a small part of the plot, but the more pressing problem is the nagging feeling of missing out. The female romances are often simply better written, or more fulfilling, and oh look, we're back at wish fulfillment.

A short recap, then. When choosing your avatars gender, what are the pros and cons? The female avatar you can mold into your idea of the perfect woman. Er, with certain limitations, of course. However, you'll miss out on parts of the storyline and will be harassed in MMOs. Male avatars, on the other hand, have asses that retreat into the body, making them no more attractive to women or gay people that to heterosexual men. On the other hand, the game has most probably been tailor-made (like a glove to a cock) to a male protagonist, so you'll get the best sub-plots and all the pixelated chicks in the game will probably want to ride your digital monkey. Now that's art for ya.

Age of Boobies (part one)

Age of Conan is an MMORPG (massively multiplayer online rampaging puerile game) developed by Norwegian gamemakers FunCom, the same ones who made the quite good pointy-clicky The Longest Journey and the endless (not as in "never-ending", but more as in "doesn't have an ending") sequel Dreamfall. Age of Conan, however, is not a point and click in the traditional sense, but in the modern sense: Point at monster, click monster, monster dead. The MMO part comes from the fact that there's thousands of other human players clicking the same monsters as you, and sometimes clicking you as well. Eerily similar to real life, then.

But enough technical mumbo-jumbo, the reason for this post lies in a different, more seedy part of town. You see, AoC (that is, Age of Conan - try and keep up, please) is an "adult", "mature" game. Translated: It's got boobies and violence. Although boobs and violence are hardly anything new in videogames (we even got'em in the real world, you know), it's somewhat of a change from the reigning champ of the MMO universe, World of Warcraft (WoW), with it's cartoonish style and rather humorous sensibilities. Which is okay. An MMO with a big, fat number "18" on the box, not a problem. The problem arises when it is continously, and retardedly, passed off as "a game for adults".

I got news for you, boyo: Big boobs, heads rolling and blood splattering across your screen as you kill things is not "adult content". In fact, it's a very good definition of "adolescent content". Or, as Cartman would put it, dude, that's totally immature. I'm not saying you have to be a 14-year old boy in order to enjoy AoC (although it undoubtedly helps), I'm just saying that you've got one inside you, and that's the one howling with satisfaction as you're chopping off heads while ogling impossible cleavage, not the reasonable, election voting grown-up that you've later become. Well, at least I hope so. Wouldn't want Conans big-breasted hussy as president, really.

So, here we've got a game aimed squarely at young boys, which they can't buy 'cause they're not old enough to do so. Good stuff. Anyhow, I wish FunCom all the economical prosperity they'll need to continue the TLJ franchise. After all, Dreamfall still needs an ending.

What is the Haterix?

Noone can be told what the Haterix is, you have to experience it for yourself. The Haterix is when you want a new skill, you want to learn something, and you have to work for it. No bloody "I know Kung-Fu", there's blood, sweat, and sweet, sweet disgrace to be had before you'll be able to lift your foot above your knee or break a cracker with anything but a hammer.

Is it worth it? Depends on the skill, probably. Knowing how to do stuff is awesome, but learning to do it can be downright painful. Of course, the physical pain is unimportant, it's the gracelessness of the novice that kills you: The knowledge that you look only slightly less competent than a midget playing basketball. I think the trick might be learning to relish public humiliation, or at least coming to grips with the fact that they're probably not laughing at you. People do laugh, after all, and it's kinda doubtful they find you important enough to laugh at, anyway. What are you now, the centre of everyones world all of a sudden? Stop worrying so much.

No, my advice: Just keep trying. Eventually you'll get it. And even if you don't, at least the rest of us get some entertainment to shorten our miserable lives. Because I lied, before. About the laughing.

Welcome to the Haterix, schmuck.

Homosexual Healing

Allow me to explain the situation.

In Norway, a law was recently passed. It's a nice law, tolerant and soft-spoken, a bit naive perhaps, but hey, we all make mistakes. I won't claim to know the details of it, but I know the gist, and the gist is this: Gay couples are now allowed to get married and have children, either through adoption or artificial insemination. Now, in a sane society, we would all go "gee, that's about time, good for them," and move on with our lives. No big whoop, right? But the keyword here is sane: Houston, therein lies your fucking problem.

Turns out a lot of people are bleeding morons; who would have guessed? But my beef, for once, does not lie with the Christian nutcases who, for some reason or another, don't like gay people or want them in their church: So you hate homos, or blacks, or jews, whatever, I can dig it. You're empty-headed bastards, you have the right to say and mean what you want, and that is, after all, one of the virtues of our society: Assholes have the same rights, the same freedom, as the rest of us.

But the people who really get in my windpipe, the ones who make me choke and spit blood out of sheer rage, are the faux liberals who flatly refuse to have coherent opinions. Those who're blind to the fact that one's opinion is not formed on a case-by-case basis, but as principles. The ones who go "it's not that I don't like gays, but think of the consequences!". FYI, the "consequences" they're talking about are the artificial insemination bit. So their argument is that this should not be a part of the new law, that it should be considered a separate case.. wait, someone's whispering something in my ear. One second. Right. Right. What? That's not what they mean? But what do they mean, invisible voice of fucking reason? They oppose the law based on this sperm-thing? They honestly think gays should not be allowed to have children? But they don't hate them? What? WHAT?

I mean, seriously, not making a joke here, but have these people actually got a brain? In working order? Let's go over that again: They don't think homosexuals should be discriminated, yet they oppose the law. Their reasoning is that artifical insemination is dangerous and unethical. But wait, why do they oppose the entire law, and not just the insemination part? I'm confused. Could it be that they're actually pro-discrimination, I wonder? No wait, that was a lie. I don't wonder at all. These people are so fucking afraid of being seen as politically incorrect, that they make up nonsensical arguments and, in the process, make themselves look dumb as mold instead. Want to discuss the ramifications of artificial insemination (god, I'm tired of writing that)? Go right ahead, but keep the poor fucking gays out of it, m'kay?

Argument: But think of the children! Two fathers? Two mothers? Oh, the humanity!
Answer: I wish people who keep sayng "think of the children" shut the hell up and started actually thinking of the children. A lot of children don't have parents. A lot of children have two dads and two moms, or one mom (alcoholic) and one dad (violent) or only one parent (in prison, perhaps). Besides, two dads are way better than one.

Argument: But it's not natural! There's a reason that only heterosexuals can have babies, you know. Mother Nature / God / Allah / Dreidel / The Big Holy Whatthefuckever intended it that way!
Answer: Man cannot fly. From nature's side, we should stay the fuck away from the skies. But we don't. We never do. We build planes, cars, trains. We make weapons, build skyscrapers, cure diseases. It goes like this: Man sees problem. Man uses technology to solve problem. Any questions? It's in our nature to overcome obstacles. Because of this ability, adaptability, we're the top species of this planet, by quite a margin.
This is no different.

Next week, on "Grow the Fuck Up or Get the Fuck Outta Here": A crash course in discrimination. Or something else. Who knows? Who cares?

The Pursuit of Happiness

By now you're maybe expecting a real update, which this is not. But in just a few minutes, if you do exactly as I say, chances are good you will have wet yourself laughing. Because I've just read the most hysterical thing I've seen in as long as I can remember, and then I naturally got the urgent desire to share it with you lot. And thus, this post happened.

Who would have guessed that one of the funniest comics ever could be found under the hood of one of the crappiest? And all it took was to rip the main character out of it! Amazing. And so I give you: Garfield Minus Garfield, which made me cry of laughter. Cry, I say! Click the link and enjoy.

I knew the internet was good for something.

Tits of Terror

Recently I saw this movie called "the Wicker Man". If any of you are thinking "oh yeah man, that's a classic, the greatest soft porn/cult thriller musical ever" and so on and so forth, let me just nip that in the bud right now: I'm talking about the Nick Cage version, m'kay? You know, the one that's so horribly awful that killing yourself (slowly, with a piece of papyrus) seems like a more pleasurable alternative? Right, now we're on the same page.

So, now that we've established that we're talking about a pretty rottensome moving picture, the question still remains: Why am I blogging about it? There's a million movies out there bad enough to warrant suicide, and it probably takes more time and effort writing a post like this than "the Wicker Man" took from idea to finished product. So, why I am spending my, and your, valuable time on this? The answer is simple: Because it pissed me the fuck off.

Now, I'm as chauvinistic as the next male, and this movie still managed to offend me on these simple grounds: It's pure misogynist drivel from start to finish. My oh my, Billy-Bob, that's a big word, you might think. But basically, I'm offended by the movies latent (well, maybe "obvious" would be a more fitting word) view of women-folk. As some of you may know, women is a race of creatures closely related to people. This movie, however, treats them as suckling at the teets of Satan herself, or even worse, whipping out said teets for themselves to suckle (the observant reader will deduct that I'm actually claiming the movie depicts women sucking their own tits while feeding small children dismembered phalloses (phalli?), which is not as far off the mark as one might expect).

There are many ways in which one gets this impression. The most prominent is the peculiar way the island which the protagonist (Nick the Dick) visits is run by women. By women! The disgrace! There must be something foul afoot! Don't worry, there sure is. All the men are lame ducks (or limp dicks, whatever you prefer), and all the women are mysterious and scary. Their leaders are strong in that feminine, cowardly way; they are master manipulators. But when push comes to show, they are physically inferior to, and easily beaten up by, the mighty man. I'm not kidding you here, Mr. Penis gracefully kicks the asses of several women for no apparent reason (in one stand-out scene he walks up to his daughter, who's tied to a tree, and punches a woman standing next to her in the face. He does this despite the fact that he's a police officer with a badge and a gun, and the woman makes no threatening gestures aside from, possibly, secretly considering menstruating on his leg. If memory serves, which I have a hard time actually believing myself, he is also, in said scene, dressed as a bear).

There is, however, one woman who's not a murdering psycho on this island. She is Nickys ex-wife, and is quite the independent lady, more than capable of looking after herself and her daughter..
KIDDING! She's scared, a pussy (quite literally) who needs the MAN before she's able to do anything, let alone going to the toilet or step across a tiny puddle. Only she's not, really. She's just fucking with him. And his daughter, as well. They're ALL fucking with him. Just like all women constantly fuck with all men. You know they can't be trusted. Luckily we're strong enough to give them bleeding bitches a good old thrashing! In fact, I say all of us manly men go out RIGHT NOW, and TAKE IT TO THE STREETS! CAN YOU DIG IT?

...

..sorry about that, I got a bit carried away. Anyway, to recap:

The message of the movie is this: Women are all worshippers of some strange, old alien-god, devouring and feeding on masculine energy, and they despise all healthy values like physical strength, logic, and fetishist porn. In fact, one day, when artificial insemination of men becomes possible, we should just wipe them all out. Meanwhile, if we can't imprison them, at least we can continue to oppress them. And let's just pray they never get any real power.

'Cause then we'll all burn.

Six Degrees of Speculation

I generally don't follow the news. This is not only because I'm some spoiled youth wallowing in my own decadence, but mostly because I think it's badly plotted, the characters are cardboard cut-outs, and there's way too little nudity. Besides, every time I turn the fucking thing on, whatever's there pisses me way the fuck off almost instantly.
Example: The Manuela Ramin-Osmundsen case. Wait, make that: The latest Manuela Ramin-Osmundsen case (there was one earlier, causing her to have to step down from some important job or other. No biggie, really, and absotively, posilutely no connection to this one whatsoever. Seriously. It's not like there's a lot of politicians and media types in this country who dislikes her strongly, or anything. That's crazy talk!). Of course, this is a local case, for local people, so I should probably explain some things first, before diving dick-first into the hay ball of insanity that is: The Media Circus. Here all week!

Here we go: Miss Manuela, who is the minister of children and family (no fucking way am I gonna bother finding the correct English phrases for these people. I may not have a life, but I have movies to watch and commercials to shout at) in Norway hired this lawyer-woman, Ida Hjort-Kraby for the position of children's rights watchdog. Big mistake! Turns out they know each other already! Who'd've thunk it? Women! Lawyers! Knowing each other! In a country wherein lives a massive 5 million! Call the papers! Wait, they did! And so the joke ends and reality begins.

Moving on: Some reports started to surface, the point here being that Manuela was supposed to be close and personal with this beast-woman, thereby making herself inhabile in all hiring matters and whatnot. Anyway, politicians and media alike descended on this rotting carcass of a pointless case like investigative carrion-eaters. The next few days (that is last few days, by the way), Norwegian papers were flooded with headliners like this: "WERE AT THE SAME PARTY IN 1998", "USES THE SAME PLUMBER", "ATTENDS NEIGHBORING MUFF-DIVING CLUBS" and so on. I kid you (almost) not! They had all sorts of charts and shit, reading them was like watching a snake trying to give directions while slowly going insane.

Time for the conclusion: The women know each other, and they have for 20 years or so. They may be friends, but they're certainly not muff-diving together (and we all know that's what true friends are for). Manuela might've known the law-rider as a capable one, maybe even as a pleasant individual, or maybe not. Who cares. Society has been contact-driven for millennia, and so far it's worked out well enough. I mean, maybe we have some clubs of, oh, say, politicians, artists, baby seal washers and what have you, but it's not exactly Eastern Europe, is it? Actually, when I think about it, this is hardly news at all - people in power hiring acquaintances for equally high-powered jobs? Haha, silly, silly media, whatever were you thinking?

Wait a second. You don't think..? No, that's impossible.. isn't it? It couldn't be.. could it?

The reason this case has made such a hot fuzz, there's absolutely no chance it's because they're women, is it? And that Manuela is coloured, and from a country that is not, and never will be, Norway?

...

..no, of course not. That's crazy talk.

Fear is the Fun-Filler

I tell you, people are afraid of everything. Just the other day, I was talking to a colleague when the conversation turned to VHS players, and I offered the insightful bit of trivia that a friend of mine reputedly owns wall-to-wall of horror films in this jurassic-era video format. Why I said this I have no idea, but it's my general impression that everyone enjoys spouting useless bits of information, constantly, and so I guess I do, too. Anyway, no matter why I said it, I certainly did not expect a reaction like the one she had: She was surprised that someone would watch that many horror films, and wondered if he still is right in the head. She actually seemed to believe that watching lots and lots of video nasties would automatically turn one into a babbling psychotic child-molester or something. I had to assure her that, not only is he still somewhat sane, he is also probably the most likable person I know. This may say something about my circle of friends, but that's beside the point. I also felt it would be wise to inform her that I, myself, probably saw more R-rated movies when I was 12 than I've done since I turned 18. Since I presently work as a middle-school teacher this information should probably not have been disclosed, but what can you do?

I can understand the worry that young children might (allow me to stress the maybe here) be influenced by watching violent movies, or playing violent games, or listening to classical music. But if people start to assume that naughty art automatically makes naughty people, we, and by "we" I mean society in general, have got ourselves a serious problem. Debating what effect violent imagery could have on someones mind, be it a child or just some simpleton like yourself, is justifiable. But slandering isn't. If you can't think twice about something before you make up your mind, then you don't deserve the right to. If you want to live in fear, go live underneath a rollercoaster. Stop worrying about things you aren't qualified to worry about, because if you do, you make your whole culture seem like it's fostering idiots. And you don't want that, do you? We sure don't.

Do you have an Ironic Erection yet? Because mine is massive. After all, why do we watch horror films? Well, aside from getting our sadistic, misogynistic kicks, I mean? To be frightened. And if you've become too hardened and can't get your scares anymore, at least you can console yourself with the fact that the way you choose to spend your (hopefully deserved) spare time induces nightmares in middle-aged housewives all over the world.

Yeah, I thought you'd like that.

Youtube Interlude

This is just plain weird. At first I thought it was supposed to be ironic, and then I realised it simply needs more cowbell..

..okay, so when you're done with that link, you need to see this.

Enough.

Standing on the edge, gazing back at tomorrow

I finally did it. I gave in to the mob. I buckled under the immense pressure I was put under, by thousands of people, mostly worshippers, from all over the world, and..

..well, okay, so there wasn't that much pressure. All right, I admit it, it wash more of a.. gentle push. Yes well, fine, so it was a barely noticeable nudge, but still, it did the job, didn't it? It got me eating out of the dying carcass of that most horrible of time-wasting beasts, the social networking site. More specifically, I now have a facebook profile. And no, I'm not going to link to it, because there's hardly a point, is there? It's not like there's anything remotely interesting to see there. Not like all these other profiles I've now discovered: These sprawling, bling-laden, novel-sized monoliths of social desperation.. no wonder all my friends've been so distant over the last year. Seriously, some of these profiles read like P. Diddys to-do list, or a teenagers autobiography or something. It's so full of pointlessness it makes my heart despair just thinking about it. Is this what we have become? When the human race finally goes down for good, it's not going to be because of melting polar caps or nuclear annihilation, it'll be because of Facebook and World of Fucking Warcraft. Some alien race or evolved monkey will find our fossilized remains, just as we're taking yet another personality test or nudging (and by all that is holy, what kind of moronic concept is that? I would make some kind of joke out of it, but i really don't feel like it's necessary) some fancy fuck we haven't met or even tried to make contact with for years. Do you really want to be discovered like that? Frozen forever, in the process of finding out what kind of shoe you are or how many people likes the same dodgy sexual positions as you?

Obviously, the answer is yes. If not, none of us would be here, after all. We would be outside, being creative, doing something worthwhile, trying to make the world a slightly better place while desperately ignoring the futility of our efforts. When we died, it would be with a smile on our lips, not a smug one or a giant grin, but a smile of contentment, of reserved happiness. Instead we're going out with our hands on our dicks and cigarettes on our lips. I write this and make no contribution to the mental well-being of the world, none whatsoever. You read this and you prove that you're just slaking your thirst for mindless entertainment, and you're too damn lazy to find some of quality. Maybe you should do yourself a favor, go read things like this. It might (and allow me to stress the might here, since it's obviously too early to say for sure) expand your mind a bit, make you see life from a different, maybe even dizzying, angle. It's worth keeping an eye on, for sure.

But, you know, don't mind me. I'm just bitter because I'll probably end up with less than 10 friends (roughly 1% as much as the average social networking site user, according to studies I just made up), three nudges and no pointless profile-bling. And as we all know, if you fail at social networking, u f@il @ l1f3.