And...Poof!

The old layout is gone! But where'd it go? Clearly, a mystery for.....
.....somebody else. Like the Missing Pages Bureau. We (by which I mean me) have this sexy new layout (we'll call her Ms.T) we've been seeing for a few months now. She's undergone major surgery before; like Michael Jackson, she (Ms. T, remember) was once black. Unlike (I hope) the esteemed Mr. Jackson ("Jacko the Whacko"), however, she was covered in pink fur and had a leopard print interior. She does have a very pretty nose, though. Like Cleopatra. In Asterix. Only not. Anyhow.

Many thanks to Dr. Victor Witnwisdumb for cranking this beauty out of those crazy labs beneath his secret lair in the Fortress of Solitude. In the end, his dark ministrations bore fruit to the creation (Ms. T, in case you forgot) you see before you. Ten points to brilliant mad ("Annngrrry! Annngggry!") scientists.

Eventually, Ms. T (she) will undergo surgery again, intended to finish her (Ms. T's) modifications. But not for a while to come. For now, she's content to recover and bask in the stares of others. So start staring. At Ms. T, that is. The eyes are up there.

Orkut. Must. Die.

PR0NZ IS YUMMY!!!111
Now that that bit of stupidity is done with, on with the show.


Orkut is ghey, and may Jerry Falwell's rotting corpse butt-rape those of you who disagree.

I'm not messing around here. I can and will personally set Zombie Jerry and his insatiable "newly-perverted-by-being-a-zombie" sexual appetite upon those of you who disagree.

Strong statement, yes, but I've my reasons. A whole list, in fact. The "scrapbook" and it's usage being high on said list.

People often use the scrapbook feature as if it was an IM client, and go on messaging someone like it's a private conversation. Newsflash, asswipes: IT ISN'T. Anything you're "scrapping" a guy can and often will be read by anyone with the interest or without a life*. That covers most of Orkut's (and, incidentally, Myspace's) user base, as I've understood it.

I don't like the layout either. Not that there's anything wrong with crappy layouts, but I really think that they could've at least pulled a Myspace and let users make their own. Instead, we are treated to a light-ish blue-and-purple monstrosity, where the "cool" (and often "modest" as well) tend to use ASCII art and SMS-ese. SMS-ese (lik dis) is alright, I suppose, when you're actually SMS-ing someone, or when there's a low character limit.

And not everyone is capable of typing in coherent sentences. "wer wer u yst??////" is alright, I guess...if you're a retarded butt-monkey with brain damage. In Siberia. And everyone around was illiterate and spoke no language that even remotely resembled English. But otherwise, it's plain stupid.

Speaking of plain stupid, so're people who talk themselves up on Orkut. If I hear someone say "hi im kwel fun luvn gal who luvs 2 frk out wid ma frndz" ONE MORE TIME...suffice to say, it's not gonna be pretty. Like Anne Coulter, who is also not pretty, but on a whole 'nother scale of horrendous hideousness. Back to the topic.

People who talk themselves up on Orkut are a pet peeve of mine. They seem to want to tell everyone just how unbearably cool and and "frky" and modest (rather, "mdst") they are. Lemme give you all some useful advice: NO ONE GIVES A SHIT. Yeah, you heard me. NO ONE GIVES A SHIT IF YOU CALL YOURSELF COOL, OR HOT, OR "FREAKY", OR EVEN "THE DOCTOR OF PRANKONOMICS". YOU'RE STILL A RETARDED BUTT-MONKEY. Capisce? As if Myspace wasn't bad enough, now we've got Orkut too...

They can't even type their shit right. I'm repeating myself, I know, but still. It deserves special mention. Example:

"umm..........m nt sur wat 2 say...........im a fun-luvn gal, alwys redy 2 party wit my frendz........."

...I'm just gonna say this once: W.T.F?!? Actually, no. I'm gonna say it more than once. Because I want to, don't ask stupid questions. WTF?! It's ok to say "umm" a few times in conversation. It's alright to type it in every now and then. But "umm....m nt sur wat 2 say" is NOT alright. If you're not sure what to say, then why are you saying it? There's the bit about being a fun-loving girl, and how no one gives a rat's penis, but that's already covered.

And then there are the losers loserly (not a word? is now.) enough to try getting some action on Orkut.

"Our hroscops match, cn I meet ur prnts on snday?"

is one such relatively tame example.

"hi wanna mak frenship wit me? im gud lukng guy wit big salry wrkn in amerca and im fair n handsum"

is another classic.

Then there are those who form/join those "communities" (don't even get me started...) devoted to idiocy with a sexual twist. And, of course, they are retarded butt-monkeys as well. I'm normally an open-minded enough guy, but disagree with me on this one, and Zombie Jerry's coming out. To all those of you who think Orkut's gonna put your hand(s)/sock(s) out of business: IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN, YO. Booty "scrapping" is NOT gonna get you laid! Trust me on this one, because if it worked, I'd be using it. And since I don't use it, it must not work. So you may as well just switch your browsers over to whatever shitty porn you like, and get your hand(s) lubed up...Which they probably already are, because if you're the sort I'm talking about, you're that big a (sexually frustrated) loser. Rather, that SMALL a loser. Go back to your fantasies about your mothers, you incestuous freaks. And take your smelly tube socks with you.

Meh. Orkut has become like Myspace: it's impurity soils the immortal souls of those who gaze upon its foul visage. I have to sacrifice a dozen virgin kilobytes each time I see it, just to feel pure again. I can only hope the Irony Gods (who rule my fate) are as forgiving...

Sit down, son. I'm not done yet. I said, sit down.

But of course, the main thing that gets me is this: every now and then (read: every day I can), I go to a local internet place to play Call of Duty 2. I have the game, but my internet sucks, and that's a pretty fun game to play on a LAN. It's a damn sight better than CS, that's for sure. But I go there, and there they are, the Orkutters - hogging machines to send everyone on their list a "whr r u?", and replying to the inevitable barrages of "im here whr r u?". Or whatever the fuck the respondents reply with. I wouldn't exactly know. And then, of course, they must have a friend hunched over the keyboard with them, discussing dialogue as they attempt to hit on a girl-who's-probably-a-middle-aged-pedo, hoping to score. But we've been over that, boys; it ain't gonna happen. At the max, you'll get a few pictures of the pedo's (grand?)daughter naked. But that's about it. Of course, given how loserly these losers are, they'll probably spend all night at home on their beds, jerking their abnormally tiny wangs off to the mental image of the fully-clothed pictures of a 12-year-old they got.

That's not to say anything about the asswipes who turn their monitors away from the rest of the room and hunch over it, trying for all their little hearts to act like they're not staring at porn (LOL PR0NZ). Or Googling |actress name| nude, trying hard to wank without using their hands, lest anybody realize and try to join in. Freaks, the lot of them. Tch. It just figures they'd accumulate on Orkut. I mean, look at what happened to Myspace, what with all the goths and emo('?)s and other weirdos. And then, of course, there was Rupert Murdoch. Pity. But in any case, at least Orkutters are safe from (dirty) old man Murdoch. Their souls are owned by Google, to be used in its (hopefully nefarious) scheme to take over the world.

Now don't get me wrong - I respect the right of every man (and woman, and child, and everyone else) to watch whatever sorta porn rocks his boat. Really, I do. But when I've gotta wait an hour just to get a system because of them, well, that changes things. The worst part is that nothing - snide looks, glares, derisive shakes of the head, NOTHING - short of a good kick in the pants seems to make them get off their fugly butts, and let me get my game on. Dirty rotten no-good...*dark mutterings*

*Sighs* Oh well. If you can't beat 'em...
*Googles |actress name| nude. Slaps forehead and corrects mistake. Sigh of contentment.*




*Yes, this rant is fairly hypocritical, considering that my layout is no great shakes neither (this black one, at least), that Blogger belongs to Google, too, and that I don't really have a life myself. And that I have both a Myspace and an Orkut. But I'm Shiny and they're not, so :p, you retarded butt-monkeys.

How To Be A Blogger*

Y'ever get that feeling where you have stuff to do (no, not drugs), but you just can't bring yourself to do it (stop it already. pervert.)? Laziness, the higher-ups call it. I've got another term for it. And that term is...

(*whispers backstage*: C'mon, it's not in the sheet! What'm I s'posed to say?! What's the word? Whaddaya mean "stall"? What the- dammit. Never hiring on a two-for-one basis again...)

...*cue carnival music. starts juggling* it's the...the...Super-Juggler! Ordinary...uh...hippie student (so sue me) by day, crazed juggler on steroids at...uh...showtime? ...Who gets arrested for possession after he kept his chronic in his...crazed juggler balls...which he lit on fire...and...got the talking monkey high with...Crap. This is clearly one of those moments. Or not.

So just what is this mysterious malady? It's clearly not Riterblokitis, [X] or otherwise, because I'm taking my meds for it. It's clearly not a defective internet connection and way too many viruses (which were my excuses all last month). The crazy space monkeys are still on strike, but I've got normal monkeys for backup on the typewriters in my illegal filipino sweatshop. So I'm just gonna do what I always do, and blame it all on...shredded cheese and pumpkin pie. No, really. No, I was not about to cry "conspiracy". Yes I'm sure. Of course I'm sure. Enough, already. Where was I?

Ah, yes. Shredded cheese and pumpkin pie. Why? Because I'm eating pumpkin pie, and I haven't got any shredded cheese. The cheese isn't here to argue the point, and the pie's not gonna be around much longer anyhow, so they make the perfect scapegoats. As opposed to goatse-Oooh, podcast done downloading. Hold up.

Alright, done. Comedy Central, great stuff. Right. *clears throat*

So I'm gonna call it an "aversion to coherent thought". This actually explains a lot, including (especially) my rants. No, really, read them. Please? Well, this one, at least. Notice how there's not much coherence? Yes. You see, coherent thought requires that one sit down (or stand up. whatever rocks your boat) and lay one's ideas out. Crucial to being a good writer, or so I'm told. Not that I'd know firsthand, of course, but so say my sources. No, not the ones who told me Aishwarya Rai was actually an android bent on destroying mankind's minds with bad acting (although I still think they're right) and smell like pot - I'm talking about the "reliable" sources. So what do I do? I do what I always do. I ramble on about nothing in particular, hoping to get more words and make my ranting(s), raving(s), and/or rambling(s) appear to contain actual content. See? I'm doing it again. A useful technique, to be sure. One which I use all the time in class.

So. There it is. The secret of my rants. Try it out, and you can be a blogger (of possibly semi-questionable sanity) too. All you have to do is:
a) Find a layout that looks great on your pc, but annoying and hard to read on other people's.
b) Fill your rants with bullshit about absolutely nothing in particular (or, alternatively, anything that strikes your fancy. no, little boys do not count. unless your first name is michael and your last name is jackson.) until it appears like you've actually said something - hopefully, of some import.
and
c) Even if you don't do b), do a). This way, you'll have a pretty (annoying), if empty, blog.

Thar it be. How to ramble incoherently. Coming up soon: the anatomy of a good, possibly deranged, rant. Stay tuned, loyal reader!

...Yes, you can go now.

*conditions apply.

Roach. Cock Roach.

Cockroaches are cool.

I was thinking this to myself as I watched the cockroach on my bathroom floor get up yet again after I'd whacked it the 10th or 29th time with a flyswatter. Yeah, I know I'm supposed to be all nice and stuff to animals, but when it comes to mosquitos and cockroaches, they started it.

But while mosquitos are annoying and weak, cockroaches are cool. They're tough. I've stomped them, swatted them, smashed them, burned them, stabbed them, and used Raid on them, but a lot of the time, they just get back up. And then I step on them, hard(and twist), and then they die. But they're still cool.

This thought reverberated in my skullpan for a few minutes after I'd successfully transformed the cockroach into a steaming smear on my floor (they're enemy agents, I swear), and walked away with my trusty flyswatter holstered. The thought was promptly lost as I saw that I'd left a box of Oreos on my bed.

After making a nice and proper pig of myself (not a crumb dropped, I'll have you know), the thought came back. Why did I find cockroaches so goshdarned cool?

Maybe it was because of their armor/shape scheme; they look sorta like living brown Batmobiles. With all that shiny, sleek armor, and the way they just *poof* jet across the floor (don't believe me? try getting down there and pounding one with your fist. ain't as easy as it looks, is it?), and the fact that they've got those serrated little things on their arms like Batman does...heh. I've this idea that Bob Kane actually meant to make him Roachman, but the execs up at DC didn't like it. "Roachman, striking disgust, loathing, and a desire for a can of Raid into the hearts of housewives everywhere" would probably do wonders for Raid, but wouldn't help comic sales very much, methinks.

So I took the idea a little further, and it hit me - Holy Superspies, true believer, EVERY superhero is based (at least partly) on cockroaches! Think about it: super strength? Cockroaches are kinda strong for their size. Invulnerability? Cockroaches are pretty damn durable. The whole secret agent James-Bond-y schtick? You tell me, what do cockroaches do in your house, if not sneak around and cause trouble? Flying? Cockroaches can fly. You name the power, cockroaches probably have some variant of it. Ok, sure, other bugs were used as well, but I think the main inspiration came from cockroaches. I can imagine the brainstoming they would've done in the beginning -

Guy 1: "Hmm...how about 'The name's Roach. Cock Roach'?"
Ian Fleming:"Naw, we need something less misogynistic. Something the women will love. How's about a compulsive womanizer named..."
*Ian Fleming notices a small stack of "James' Finest Illegal Bond Paper! For the BEST forgeries around!", that appeared out of nowhere to serve as a plot device*
Ian Fleming:"That's it! We'll call him Illegal Forgeries!"
Guy 1:"Uhh...ok..."
Or something like that. Whatever.

As usual, I think this all leads up to a...(say it with me now, kids...) conspiracy! I think the cockroaches are out to get us with their massively superior prototype-superpowers. The only way to stop this is by destroying the Spice Girls once and for all. What's that, teeny-bopping(what's that mean, anyway?)-kid-who-had-to-have-this-read-to-him/her sitting over there? The Spice Girls are good, you say? "Zigazig Ha" actually means something, you say? Don't believe me, you say? Fine. You just wait. One day, when a nuclear missile is accidentally launched at China (or wherever), and a nuclear war starts, and cockroaches mutate into giant, 60-foot-tall Spice Girls, don't come crying to me. You go on listening to your stupid Britney Spears on your crappy pink iPod, you teeny-bopping(there's that phrase again...)...teeny-bopper! Yeah, that's right! Run home to mommy, you wuss! Damn straight, go whine to your huge(heh) daddy who's been in the army and served 2 tours in Vie-...oh fuck.

Shit. I gotta run. But please, heed my warning! Don't waste time! Kill the cockroaches! They walk among us! They must be eradicated before it's too late!

*Shiny Butter Knife runs off stage, away from a homicidal maniac firing a huge assault rifle.*


TV Voice: "That's all for today's rant, kids! Tune in next time for another exciting episode of 'Stupid Doom-Saying Rants That Make No Sense!', with your host, Overpaid TV Voice!
And now, a message from our sponsors!"

*Voice offstage says something unintelligible. Don't they always?*

TV Voice: "Whaddaya mean we got no sponsors?! Then who the hell is paying for me?! Say what?! Did you just say downsizing?! Why're you looking at me so funn...oh. Crap."

*A sigh is heard, followed the sound of footsteps, a pistol being cocked, and a shot. Starving kids in Russia rejoice, serving someone else's plot device. Footsteps again. The mic is switched off.*

Prisons of the Mind Redux

Well, my miracle cure(see previous ramble) backfired. I got a post out of it, but no essay. Which is why I flipped back a bit and hit on Prisons of the Mind. I redid it a little, and handed it in. Yeah, I know I'm lazy. Which is why I just reposted it here.

I got this interesting article in my rss feeds, check it out if/when you get the time.


(commence pointless filler in a pathetic play for space)


Consciences are prisons of the mind. People without consciences are free.

There. I said it. But before you decide to lynch me, let me explain how I arrived at this somewhat unusual statement.

Our conscience dictates the way we view everything. When I say conscience, I mean our sense of what’s right and what’s wrong. Our morality, so to speak. Of course, morality is merely a part of our conscience. A huge part, to be sure, but only a part, nonetheless. So when we view certain things, say polygamy for instance, as “right” or “wrong”, it’s our consciences telling us that it is so.

The same applies to all our opinions. Our conscience dictates our points of view, which dictate our opinions. This can, and almost inevitably will, lead to certain paradigms which would be nigh unshakeable. Which is why it would be difficult for a person who’s grown up thinking that polygamy is wrong all his life to put himself in the shoes of a person who thinks it is right, and vice versa; his conscience tells him it is so, and therefore he is unable to believe anything else. Most of us think we’re immune to it or more enlightened than that, but we often fail to understand the depth to which the effects of deeply entrenched beliefs go. We’re not immune, and we’re not more enlightened; it’s just that our firmly-held “morals” require that we must believe that we are.

That a conscience prevents us from doing certain things, I don’t think anyone will dispute. That it often bars us from doing the needful, well, I imagine a great many would dispute that point. Often, this firm belief in what is “right” and “wrong” prevents us from taking the most pragmatic path available. We may decide to go against our conscience, but the guilt or shame that comes after would seriously mess with our minds, and could drive some over the edge in certain extreme cases.

A conscience does all that. It is what makes you feel bad after you get low grades, it is what makes you feel guilty when you lie to get an extension you need, it is what prevents you from telling an obnoxious/unwanted guest to get the hell out of your house. It does all this, and then some. Also, as mentioned above, a conscience often prevents you from gaining proper understanding of a situation by preventing you from being able to put yourself in the shoes of another, which, if nothing else, could lead one to making uneconomical choices, or inflicting suffering on a person for simply doing what he had to or what his conscience told him to.

Our consciences aren’t even something that we install ourselves, really; the base work is laid by the society we grow up in, and though we may later modify it, it’s a rare person who changes it against the dictates of her society, or really changes the foundations of her conscience. Such people are usually called “deviant”, or are said to have “gone crazy”.

So essentially, we punish others for adhering to moral standards – possessing consciences – which go against ours. In a way, it’s what’s happening to Saddam; he’s stuck to his standards, whatever they may be, and because they go against what we think is right and proper, we’re trying to have him punished. Yes, I know he’s killed a lot of people, and I’m neither condoning nor condemning his actions, but he listened to his conscience, whatever it may have said, and because what his said goes against what ours say, we had him executed. In my opinion, he should've been forced to eat rotten tapioca and listen to Kenny G 24/7. But then, that’s just me.

We say that people without consciences are monsters, but do they think so? Does a so-called “monster” care about his “misdeeds”? Not at all; he’d be perfectly happy so long as he gets what he/she wants. So in a way, a person without a conscience would be happier than a person with a conscience. He can do whatever is necessary to get what he wants, and would feel no regrets later; no pangs of guilt or shame to keep him/her awake at night, no moral dilemmas to brood over, nothing of the sort. Simply satisfaction at having gotten what he wanted. The only circumstance in which I can imagine that this wouldn’t be true is if our “monster” is simply incapable of getting what he wants. But then, that upsets everyone, conscience or no.

While it seems evident that if everyone had no (or really flexible) consciences, society would break down into chaos and anarchy, that isn’t necessarily true. Contrary to what most moralists and religious fanatics would have you believe, a lack of rigid morals doesn’t necessarily imply a state of lawlessness or that one is a wanton murderer or any of a thousand other such adjectives; all it means is that one refuses to do what the mob wants him to do when it isn’t in his best interest. Shooting that annoying motorcyclist who drives by my house with his silencer pulled out in the morning may be a very attractive idea, but I’d just as soon not go to jail over it.

Leaving morality to an individual instead of legislating it needn’t put an end to all laws; for while I’ll be the first to agree that all laws are connected to morality in some way or another, extremes are generally not a good idea. I’m not advocating that we abandon laws altogether, but neither can I extend my support to a system where we apply one set of rigid rules to every situation that crops up, regardless of the fact that the line between “right” and “wrong” is different every time. Sometimes it’s just a minor adjustment, sometimes it’s a major paradigm shift, but we cannot continue to call ourselves the purveyors of justice while we continue to treat the world as a monochromatic playground of the vocal majority.

While Anarchy seems like the ideal solution, it is beyond the scope of this inane rant and tired ranter to get into its details. Let’s just say it’s the ideal solution, and return to the topic in the hand of that fellow over there in the corner.

I’ve heard plenty of arguments against flexible personal morality, and most of them rely on the premise of ensuing lawlessness, and most who make these arguments seem to confuse immorality with amorality; they’re two very different things. As such, it still seems to me that a conscience is nothing but a prison for our head of society’s making, yet another way to make us fit in with the crowd. And this is why I still believe that only the amoral are really and truly free.

(end pointless filler in a pathetic play for space)

Break out the confetti - 200th hit sometime yesterday...after a few months...most of which were long and barren...better yet, put it all away, and just give me that paper bag to put over my head...