The Following is a Public Service Announcementaru, broughtaru to you by the Windurst Coalition for Cleany-weany Water Closetarus for Everypeoples Everyplaces:
-ahem-
When a tarutaru or bigger peoples (even long-eared dhalmels) go to the water closetaru (also knowny as "the bathroom" or "the john" or "the can" or "the toilet" or "the head" or "the potty"), aftaru the peoples finish their businessy (either poopies or peepees which ever the peoples wentaru into the water closetaru to takey-wakey care of), the peoples should ALWAY makey sure to flushy-wushy the tolietaru aftaruwards.
'Cause no taru wants to findaru what you didy-widdy aftaruwards.
Tarutarus and bigger peoples everywheres thankee everypeoples outaru there for this littaru considaruation.
This concludes this public service announcementaru - we will now returny-wurney you to your normaru blogging viewing.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Battle Cry
Of late, there's a song that keeps playing over and over in my head. It started with just the music itself, but now it's the words as well. Over and over, like some kind of subconscious battle cry, echoing over and over inside me.
The first time I heard it was over the holidays, visiting family. My younger cousins brought their PS2 over, with the rather addicting rhythm game known as "Guitar Hero III" - which they insisted I try out. They were very insistent about it, and one cousin even presented the controller (shaped like a guitar) to me on bended knee, arms outstretched and head bowed.
Of course I had to try at that point. I mean, how could a fantasy-loving gamer such as myself resist such a powerful entreaty?
After much fumbling (accompanied by laughter and encouragement), I started to kind of get the hang of it. Still, there were other cousins about, and I relinquished the controller to others for their turns.
That's the first time I heard the song, as the cousins (and my brother) battled it out good naturedly, plastic guitar-controllers in hand and swaying to the music.
I don't know exactly what it is about the song. The refrain echoes in my mind, over and over and over. Resonating in my soul.
The band - Rise Against. The song - Prayer of the Refugee.
...and I can play it at Hard setting, and hit 94% now. Oh my poor blistered fingers and cramping hand.
The first time I heard it was over the holidays, visiting family. My younger cousins brought their PS2 over, with the rather addicting rhythm game known as "Guitar Hero III" - which they insisted I try out. They were very insistent about it, and one cousin even presented the controller (shaped like a guitar) to me on bended knee, arms outstretched and head bowed.
Of course I had to try at that point. I mean, how could a fantasy-loving gamer such as myself resist such a powerful entreaty?
After much fumbling (accompanied by laughter and encouragement), I started to kind of get the hang of it. Still, there were other cousins about, and I relinquished the controller to others for their turns.
That's the first time I heard the song, as the cousins (and my brother) battled it out good naturedly, plastic guitar-controllers in hand and swaying to the music.
I don't know exactly what it is about the song. The refrain echoes in my mind, over and over and over. Resonating in my soul.
The band - Rise Against. The song - Prayer of the Refugee.
...and I can play it at Hard setting, and hit 94% now. Oh my poor blistered fingers and cramping hand.
Monday, January 14, 2008
...wtf...? o_0;;;
There's a commercial that's been playing on the radio out here. To summarize it, there's a pleasant-sounding lady commenting on how her husband has expressed doubts about whether or not he is the father of her daughter.
...and how a new genetic testing service can show the truth.
...umm...wtf...?
Okay, reality check here.
1.) I have a problem believing that any woman who's husband expressed doubt about the parentage of their child is going to take the whole thing pleasantly. I mean, come on, seriously!
2.) Any woman who doesn't take what is basically an accusation of promiscuity as an insult must be guilty of said crime. (Although even so, I can't see anyone taking such an accusation without a lot of angry and vocal protestations going on, guilty or no...)
The scenario is just so utterly ridiculous to me - every time I hear it, I roll my eyes and switch the station, or even turn the radio off.
...of course, I suppose a realistic scenario would probably not be the best way of marketing the service... might be more entertaining though.
I must say this though - it DOES stick in your mind. Annoyingly.
...and how a new genetic testing service can show the truth.
...umm...wtf...?
Okay, reality check here.
1.) I have a problem believing that any woman who's husband expressed doubt about the parentage of their child is going to take the whole thing pleasantly. I mean, come on, seriously!
2.) Any woman who doesn't take what is basically an accusation of promiscuity as an insult must be guilty of said crime. (Although even so, I can't see anyone taking such an accusation without a lot of angry and vocal protestations going on, guilty or no...)
The scenario is just so utterly ridiculous to me - every time I hear it, I roll my eyes and switch the station, or even turn the radio off.
...of course, I suppose a realistic scenario would probably not be the best way of marketing the service... might be more entertaining though.
I must say this though - it DOES stick in your mind. Annoyingly.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
And the Moral of the Story is...
Okay, so I'm sitting here watching TV. The story line is that there's this psycho psychiatrist out there who's killing his patients.
All of them have certain phobias that they were trying to overcome. He tells them that he can help them, but instead kills them using the very thing that they fear.
All of his victims are newcomers to the city, having moved away to a place where they have no family and no connections, trying to make a new start for themselves. Making them especially vulnerable.
And what city are they all newcomers to?
Portland.
Moral of the story: therapist are teh ebil.
All of them have certain phobias that they were trying to overcome. He tells them that he can help them, but instead kills them using the very thing that they fear.
All of his victims are newcomers to the city, having moved away to a place where they have no family and no connections, trying to make a new start for themselves. Making them especially vulnerable.
And what city are they all newcomers to?
Portland.
Moral of the story: therapist are teh ebil.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
About the Wii...
Played Wii Sports for the first time this weekend. I've had it since I got the system (all of... like, 3 weeks), but never took the time to try it out. Was much too distracted by the novelty of running around swinging a sword and shooting things with arrows while wearing a stylish green floppy hat.
But finally did get around to trying out the game that came with the system. And truly, it is fun. Silly fun. Something that you'd only want to play around open-minded people who understand the geekiness of bouncing around and gesturing wildly while playing a video game version of tennis. Or worrying about the follow-through of your swing with a virtual baseball bat.
It's fun. Really fun. And pretty intuitive to control. And it's not really something you can play while sitting on your ass. You want to be up and moving, even if it's just to go through the motions of stepping up to fling a digital bowling ball down a non-existent lane towards imaginary pins.
The only game I haven't tried on it is golf. And I think I'll just leave it at that. Rather not end up flinging my Wii-mote out the window while cursing the screen, thank-you-very-much.
Next up: Smash Brothers. (And yes, Torias, I'll be bringing it with me when I come to visit, unless Nintendo delays the release date of the game)
But finally did get around to trying out the game that came with the system. And truly, it is fun. Silly fun. Something that you'd only want to play around open-minded people who understand the geekiness of bouncing around and gesturing wildly while playing a video game version of tennis. Or worrying about the follow-through of your swing with a virtual baseball bat.
It's fun. Really fun. And pretty intuitive to control. And it's not really something you can play while sitting on your ass. You want to be up and moving, even if it's just to go through the motions of stepping up to fling a digital bowling ball down a non-existent lane towards imaginary pins.
The only game I haven't tried on it is golf. And I think I'll just leave it at that. Rather not end up flinging my Wii-mote out the window while cursing the screen, thank-you-very-much.
Next up: Smash Brothers. (And yes, Torias, I'll be bringing it with me when I come to visit, unless Nintendo delays the release date of the game)