This is the page where all of you who want to read more of my insane rantings will find them. Each time something pisses me off enough to rant about it, it'll go here. Check back often, as things will be constantly updating ... as much as my sleep deprived condition can update anything. And yes, I do take a lot of inspiration from the awesome Batjew and the eternally misanthropic Safety Monkey.
(unknown date)
I think I’m here ... although that could easily be a figment of my imagination. Which brings up an interesting question: can a figment of someone’s imagination have an imagination to begin with, and can that figment's imagination spawn new figments? What would one call such a creature? A second-order imagination figment? hmmm ... food for thought. And another thing: why is it that a figment of your imagination has so many super powers, and I don’t? I've been told by reputable sources that I am a figment of the collective imagination of the entire population of the world, and after seeing some of the things that happen to me and I survive, I'm tempted to agree. Which leaves me with that same question: why don't I have super powers? Surely, we've all dreamed of having them (that "can a figment have a figment" question .. hmm .... ), so why doesn't the imagination of the world conjure something with a little more flair? How about better looks? I mean, c'mon ... half the world is female, and their collective imagination manifested me? Not even the influence of the males could account for this, because they all see themselves as buff and good looking, so that should leak over ... *grumbles incoherently*
(unknown date)
I hate spending time with my family. Really, I do. They pull me away from my computer for an entire weekend, force me to spend hours with idiotic relatives, and expect me to join in the merrymaking and celebration like a good little circus monkey. Well, this monkey has had it. In the past two days, I have been "randomly selected for additional search" twice. I only took two flights. What am I, flypaper for stupid people? What makes it worse is that I can see with my own eyes how easy it is to slip through that "air-tight security" that has stalled the nations airways. Just point to someone who went in ahead of you and say "I'm with her" and they'll let you through. And the worst part is that they don't even have real Americans running this, they have Sikhs and Vietnamese and Russians and (I swear by my Jewels) a few East German Border Guards. Their purpose to detain you and badger you until you show them your photo ID for the nine thousandth time, and the right papers. And if you don't produce the right papers (which are never the same from one encounter to the next), you are whisked away for "further security searches" which is a barely disguised full body massage on the recipients part. Not voluntary, I assure you. Having finally made it past the Gestapo and into the main terminal, the only coherent sounds are the constant drones of the elevator music and the half-dead moans of those who have been through before you. After waiting in that graveyard waiting for a Priest, they then proceed to pack you into the aircraft until there isn't room to breathe. I am 6'4" tall, and I mass in at 105 (about) kilos. Now, it's not easy to cram me anywhere, but the always smiling, always efficient airline stewardesses managed to pack me between the armrest of my (for lack of a better word) seat and a person who could have stopped the flow of the Rio Grande by sitting down in it's mouth. Needless to say, my flight was atrociously long to me, yet mercifully short. Then, I was commanded to smile, and wave, and laugh, and be a simpering idiot. No. So I'm branded as "arrogant" and "selfish" and "catty" when I tell them that I change who I am for no one. Do they believe me? Of course not. Soooo, there begins yet another pointless and bitter battle with no winner and only more pain.
5 August 2002
Well. It's been a while, and a lot has happened. Things have changed. People have changed. Worlds have changed. Not voluntarily, by any means, but changed by powers greater than their own. And so life begins anew again, the deja-vu that is a glitch in the Matrix having passed unnoticed, and no one even remembers the world before it. And this has gone on for time immemorial, until it seems a part of the universal order, the Grand Scheme of Things. Azazel would weep, if he could. So ... the latest rant is about college life. More specifically, it's about people who don't live in their own rooms but in someone else's. It was on the main page, but I'll repeat it here:
Oh my god ... oh my FUCKING GOD!!! Does every male on this floor have a female in his bed tonight? JESUS CHRIST!! Fook!!! I'm the only freaking one of them who's not fucking insane and sex hungry who's sleeping alone!! Fuck-monkeys of doom, people?! What the fuck is going on here!!! Even fucking CHAANG has a girl!! Was tonight "pick up your rent-a-whore" night and nobody fucking told me?!
That simple. Of course, it's a lot deeper than that but I'm so tired of being angry and laughing and being angry again.
I think I want to go kill a circus clown.
5 August 2002 - Part II
After a night like last, it's amazing that I got to sleep at all. Add to that some weird potted up shithead at 3:30 in the fucking morning, and you get an Unhappy Brad. So this fuckhead pounds on my door and wakes me up in the middle of the night, is writing some shit on my board about North California Hip Hop, and how I should check out his site. Whatever. "it's the middle of the fucking night. Go to bed and sleep off the pot." So what does that bastard do? He fucking steals my pen. Steals my fucking pen!!! What the fuck?! And to make matters worse, the fucker is the gust and friend of our Residence Advisor. Christ, that makes me feel good about the security here. So, unable to get back to sleep and paranoidly awake at every little sound, I didn't get back to sleep until about 5 AM. Which was about 3 hours from when I needed to be awake to take my calculus test. Which I failed, I'm sure. I missed breakfast, was tired and cranky, and woke up feeling even more alone than when I went to bed.
Fucking lovely.
16 August 2002
You know, there is a feeling I get whenever I sit down to write anything. It's the feeling that any second now someone is going to pop out of my television and say "smile, fucker, you're on Candid Camera!" and I'm going to realize suddenly that everything I've been doing has been a laughable joke for the world to see. I hate that feeling. Just like I hate having to sit down and write anything. It's bad enough that I have to be creatively coherent in English papers, but to have to be funny and entertaining on the front page of a webcomic? Why did I follow Tycho's model instead of Ian's? I never know what to write on that damn thing! What, sit down and enumerate every facet of my daily drudgery? Nobody wants to hear about that unless it's funny. Ie, Batjew and Safety Monkey. And they have the added bonus of being famous to bring their webpages hits. What do I have? An artist who looks like John Lennon and thinks he Is, a drunken iguana named Pete, and my own penchant for humor. Which, when compared with other recent offerings is weak and sickly. And I can't learn the HTML and I can't learn photoshop and it's all beginning to suck but strangely its still fun and I wonder if I'm a masochist and I just didn't know it until now.
13 August 2003
A full year later, and I finally have something meaningful to add here. It's a flowchart, remarkably enough, a flowchart that does a damn fine job of explaining my life and my usual decisionmaking process. you ready for this? here it is:
Any Questions?
This comic made possible by the combined efforts of Matt Thompson and Brad Mitchell, and hosted by Keenspot. All works on the site are (C) and (R) them unless it's (C) and (R) someone else. Don't even try to steal from us, our collective left earlobe vibrates every time illegal type shit happens. Just read the comic and then go tell our hosts how much you've enjoyed our work. Spread the word!
