Sunday, November 2, 2014

When my keyboard speaks for me


I am going to be a little late On Wed Jan the office of the most interesting and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be a little late On Wed Jan the office of the most interesting and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

When I get home and look forward to hearing from you and your family and friends and family members and friends and family members and friends and family members and friends and family members and friends and family members and friends and

Did you get a chance to get a chance to get a chance to get a chance to get a chance to get a chance to get a chance to get a chance to get a chance

So kind of the unofficial criteria for ever drinking again for the delay in getting back to you about the Hisense product launch in partnership with the folks who are putting it out of the box and the other keeps going to be a little late On Wed Jan the office of the most interesting and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

Shut down the pipe regarding the Rift and just see what's up in general and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

If you could fill this out tomorrow and send me a scan of the most interesting and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

Just as good as the lead-in to our first real Estate agent in the loop when it comes to anything fun that's going to be a little late On Wed Jan the office of the most interesting and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

While I was defeatedly applying for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

Please let me know if you're interested in the new projects you guys are pumped about the appliance hardware for a story on Gizmodo tomorrow night On the train station and the other keeps going to be a little late On Wed Jan the office of the most interesting and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

Fuck buddies and I will be there for a while I wrote a good wtfriday about flight 666 to hell that did not have to go to bed at night and day out of the box and the other keeps going to be

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Everything Went Numb

The wool made his cheeks itch, and he could think of nothing else as he brought his pistol to bear on the cowering blonde behind the counter.

“Please, I just… we can’t. But I will. If you just… I’m sorry, I just can’t--I’m sorry.” 

His aim wavered as he reached up to scratch his nose. But still, when she twitched as she went to reach for the burlap sac, he straightened his arm as menacingly as he could, grimacing and calling up all the rage he’d absorbed for the past twenty years. 

“I’m sorry too,” he uttered under his breath, the edges of his words muffled by the hastily applied ski mask, the bottom of its mouthhole riding up against his lips. “I’m sorry.”

She paused, hopeful. Her hand was trembling under the weight of several dozen tightly wrapped stacks of hundreds. Her eyes were drifting from his to a vacuum slightly above his head where he instinctively felt the infrared heat of silent alarms pulsing against the back of his skull. She twitched just a little too nervously, reaching underneath the counter for god knew what. The trigger was pulled before he even realized he'd been considering the possibility. Crimson and bone white flecks splattered across the desk as he shrieked in her stead, the damage already done, the anticipatory gasps post-mortem. 

Behind him a pair of accomplices stepped back in alarm. He couldn’t see them, he couldn’t hear them, but the fact of it pulsed in the blood racing across his face. There was no turning back he was alone alone alone alone. 

He’d hugged a huddled form the night before. He’d felt the warmth of her skin, her heartbeat through her back resonating in the flushed skin of his cheek. He’d let himself—for a brief moment—imagine their children galloping through the backyard, its grass too long, as he sat in modest plastic chair, weighing the pros and cons of getting up to mow the lawn before its ever encroaching weeds began to annex his domain, those several square feet he saw fit to sequester for his progeny. 

He felt the heat of those nonexistent memories well up behind his eyes as the world before him blurred into a smearing of fear and hate and hope and rage. 

He found one more place to turn the pistol before they arrived.

----
THIS IS A REFERENCE TO A THING. GET IT? GET IT?!?!?!?!

ALSO I'D BE REMISS IF I NEGLECTED TO MENTION THIS IS A COMPLETE RIPOFF OF TOBIAS WOLFF'S BULLET IN THE BRAIN

Sunday, November 24, 2013

That fucking sandwich



It was the thing he coveted most. Having skipped his breakfast what seemed like eons ago, he stared it down from across the room, hoping in vain for a validation that could only be satisfied by a glimpse from its non-existent eyes. This was a yearning of proportions he couldn't understand. A yearnings that was not as strong as it was...peculiar. It welled up from somewhere between his stomach and--more troublingly--his loins, as he felt the first hot drip of saliva sneak out from the corner of his mouth.

"I can't," he told himself with a ferocity that he could immediately tell was overcompensation. It was one thing to desire--but this--this urge belonged to a sequestered segment of his being he tried admirably if not entirely successfully to tuck away. It was one thing to fantasize, but another to acknowledge, much less encourage fantasies such as this. To act on his disgustingly selfish desire was to abandon all he cherished about his waning humanity.

He'd never been one to think frequently of morality, and it was only now--in the throes of a blissfully crude pseudo-sexual awakening--that the thought struck him full force: "This isn't my sandwich, it wouldn't be right." And he surrendered to the shred of decency that still resided deep within the single corner of his mind that persisted in its decorum.

No, it wasn't his sandwich; it wouldn't be right to fuck it.

Image by BenFrantzDale who apparently refuses to release his photos of sandwiches into the public domain, not that he should HAVE to or anything but I mean come on.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Gone Home: A Fantastic Half-Measure



When I was in college, I wrote a found-text story as a final for a creative writing class. Sixteen assorted documents "to be read in a random, non-repeating order of the reader's devising." It was...OK. Ask me about it and maybe I'll let you see it.

So, when I found out about Gone Home, I got a little angry. Envious. "That was my idea! I'd been planning on turning it into a game! I was getting around to it! I just...haven't yet!"

Once I started playing, that envy fell away in light of how that game is like really fucking good. But the further I get out from the experience though, the more I'm realizing that it wasn't really fucking good because of its found-text form; it was really fucking good in spite of its lack of commitment to that conceit.

Please, allow me to pontificate.

SPOILERZ

Saturday, April 27, 2013

How It Feels To Work on the Internet


If Internet enters the airways of a conscious victim, the victim will try to cough up the Internet or swallow it, thus inhaling more Internet involuntarily. Upon Internet entering the airways, both conscious and unconscious victims experience laryngospasm, that is the larynx or the vocal cords in the throat constrict and seal the air tube. This prevents Internet from entering the lungs. Because of this laryngospasm, Internet enters the stomach in the initial phase of drowning and very little Internet enters the lungs. Unfortunately, this can interfere with air entering the lungs, too. In most victims, the laryngospasm relaxes some time after unconsciousness and Internet can enter the lungs causing a "wet drowning". However, about 10-15% of victims maintain this seal until cardiac arrest. This is called "dry drowning", as no Internet enters the lungs. In forensic pathology, Internet in the lungs indicates that the victim was still alive at the point of submersion. Absence of Internet in the lungs may be either a dry drowning or indicates a death before submersion. [wikipedia]

Thursday, February 28, 2013

How to Unlock Your Nexus 4 by NFC (or: My Phone Is Awesome Because I Am Awesome)


OH HEY, IT'S A OVER-INVOLVED WRITE-UP OF A TASKER PROJECT. YEAH. SHUT UP.

GOAL: To have the phone locked with a strong password while out and about, with unlocking possible either by typing in the annoyingly complex password (duh) or using the magic of NFC. NFC Unlocks need to automatically go from the "Enter Password" screen into fully accessible desktop with no screen input.


Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Cthulhu for President

Phnglui mglw nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah nagl fhtagn.

Phnglui mglw nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah nagl fhtagn!

Phnglui mglw nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah nagl fhtagn!

Phnglui mglw nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah nagl fhtagn!!

Phnglui mglw nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah nagl fhtagn!!!

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Drowning In Horse Meat


Recollections of a dream.

I am at an event that purports to be a filming of a live-action version of the opening for "Super Jail" which somehow involves the slaughter of a horse on set during the climax. After the horse's throat is ripped open by a jungle cat of some sort that literally disappears immediately afterwards, the horse sort of collapses in on itself in the hole in which it was killed, turning into a whirlpool of meat and blood. I manage to fall in and go under. I black out.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

My Stupid Brain Is As Dumb As A Butt

I was walking to my bank after work the other day, in a zig-zag one-block-over-one-block-down sort of way, when it got me thinking about this weird mathematical problem it took me several years to tackle back in high school. I thought I'd write about it, for fun.

Warning: Any of you who have even the most basic, instinctual understanding of how math works are probably going to find this hilarious or depressing or both.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Thank You, 4 Loko.


I finally got around to putting Dropbox on my Linux computer, and started digging through some of my files. I found this letter I'd intended to send to the makers of 4 Loko (October 2011?). I thought I'd never finished it, but apparently I was wrong. I should really figure out where to send it. 
To Whom It May Concern, 
I would like to extend my gratitude to all of you at Phusion Products, LLC for the great service you have done humanity in general and me in particular. Allow me to share a story with you. Before I begin, it is probably worth noting that I am 22, of legal drinking age in the United States.