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Apr. 16th, 2006 @ 02:02 pm using namespace awesome;
Current Music: Pixies - Monkey Gone to Heaven
Tags: ,
if (man == 5)
{
  if (man == 5)
    {
      if (man == 5)
	{
	  devil = 6;
	  devil = 6;
	  devil = 6;
	  devil = 6;
	}
      && if (devil == 6)
	{
	  God = 7;
	  God = 7;
	  God = 7;
	}
    }
}

this.monkey() = { goto HEAVEN; }
this.monkey() = { goto HEAVEN; }
this.monkey() = { goto HEAVEN; }
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dd2guy
Apr. 16th, 2006 @ 05:43 pm consumerism wins!
Current Mood: happy:D
I am now the proud owner of a fully functional, non-defective GeForce 6600 video card. :D

(No, I didn't fix mine. I got a really good deal on a replacement card off eBay.)
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megadance
Apr. 16th, 2006 @ 10:34 pm i believe in a thing called laaaaaaahve
Current Mood: angryangry
Current Music: Muse - Time Is Running Out
Tags:
You know what? Fuck adultery. Fuck it. People treat it like it's okay now, like it's no big deal, like it stopped being a bad thing because times have changed, or that it never hurt anyone. Every generation thinks it invented sex, and that it's doing things the previous generation would never have even considered.

Well, guess what. I grew up in a community where everyone's mom was fucking her supervisor and everyone's dad was fucking his secretary. And you know what happens when all those glorious postmodern postfeminist American Beauty fuck-fantasies come true?

You get little girls who grow up not believing in love--the same way most kids grow up not believing in Santa Claus.

Love! Scientifically disproven--a certified myth. Marriage never makes people happy--the best you can hope for is some desperate hip-polka with a stranger in the back room of a bar. Fuck everyone you get because it's never gonna get better. Blah blah blah. I'm sick of all that tripe. You think you guys are going to be college kids forever? That you're going to live in some sort of eternal Woodstock, or some bizarre French New Age sexual liberation fantasy? Wake up and smell the fetus--the last time people tried that, you were born. Families get started. Houses get built. Skin wrinkles, breasts droop, cocks grow limp. And if you don't believe in love, those things are a lot more scary than they should be.

I'm not saying people don't have the right to be happy. I'm saying it's possible, for some people at least, to be happy with exactly one other person--to have that relationship be the fulfillment of their fantasies and desires, and last and last and last, and ebb but never grow stagnant. But sometimes it seems like no one believes in that anymore--that the only way to compensate for the fact that your husband or wife or girlfriend or boyfriend isn't perfect is to fuck the mailman or the babysitter. Because there's always someone more perfect than the person you're with--the ass is always greener on the other side of the bed--and it's so easy to delude yourself into thinking that what is perfect is perfect for you.

You know what? Fuck Gustave Flaubert. Fuck Alan Ball. Fuck Daniel Orozco and Kate Chopin and Robert Coover and all the other fucking brilliant writers and directors and poets and artists who believe love is something that gets splattered across the tire swing in your neighbor's back yard when your spouses are away. Marriage does not have to be a fucking pair of handcuffs. I believe in a Jean-Luc Goddard kind of love, in a Chuck Palahniuk kind of love. In maybe even an Thomas Hardy kind of love. I believe in a love that lasts, one that our generation has not known since Mad About You got moved to Nick at Nite, and I'm not going to let this postmodern porn-movie expression of defiance against the alienation of modern living bullshit stand. Ladies and gentlemen, this is war. Today I take up arms against the Desperate Housewives and the Double Indemnities, against men in suits talking on phones with their pants down, against plumbers checking pipes and mailmen cleaning out boxes. I declare war on midnight rendezvous in abandoned apartments to screeching violin music and students taking professors home for extra credit and middle-aged couples eating spaghetti and half a basil leaf in silence. I believe in a thing called love, ladies and gentlemen, and I don't even listen to Darkness. And I'm going to find it, or die trying.
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dd2guy
Apr. 16th, 2006 @ 11:59 pm bus stop
Current Music: Coldplay - Trouble
Tags:
Scene: A boy and a girl sitting next to each other at a bus stop. The girl's head is on the boy's shoulder and the boy's head is on her head. It doesn't mean anything--they're maybe fourteen--but at the same time, it means everything.

The boy is watching the droplets spatter across the cracked plexiglass, watching trails of water race down in parallel. He's thinking about the sniper's nest in q2dm1, drawing trails of polygon-rendered railgun smoke in the rain. He feels the girl's short black hair brush across his face as she shifts her head, just a bit, and he smiles. He doesn't mind that this moment isn't going to last forever. For him, it will.

The girl is watching the rain bounce off the concrete, trying to read each individual drop as it fountains off the road's slick surface. There's a crick in her neck, but she dares not sit up, fearing that the magic will fade. She reads notes in the curtain of droplets--arpeggios, crescendos, ritardandos--and feels them trickle into music as they beat against the ground. She hums a few bars of Elliot Smith's "Between the Bars," and wishes the bus will never come.

This is not a hallucination. It is a dream.
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hug