BAMF

You know what’s great? When you can get a Photoshop tip and boobies, all wrapped up in one shiny little link. That said, I’m sure you can imagine that this link is not safe for work.

[ Cat Schwartz’s Boobies ]

She’s kind of dwelling on the whole thing on her weblog. It’s not like this is going to really hurt her career. Like a station who’s primary audience is the kind of fat sweaty variety that would enjoy this sort of web-treasure could possibly penalize her for pandering (inadvertently) to their nerdly masturbatory desires. She should set up a paypal donations box as a “tip” for the high-rez versions and get it over with. Oh, and speaking of shameless selling out, I put up a Cat Schwartz gallery. If anyone gets some good looking pics of her, ship them on over to me and perhaps I’ll have enough to scramble a decent SOTD together.

Ever since the mighty mobo meltdown of last weekend, I’ve been forced to abandon Star Wars Galaxies for the more Microsoft-reliant (and therefore, more evil) Star Wars Knights Of The Old Republic. About 8 hours into the game you become a Jedi Padawan, eschewing years of studying and discipline for three minutes of training montage, which apparently takes three weeks, since your character is so “gifted” in the force. I attribute that to my heavy reliance on the dark side. My theory is that there are millions of insignificant aliens in the galaxy, therefore nobody is going to miss the five or six that gain me a few extra dollars so’s I can buy shiny things.

The game itself is a lot of fun, but the instant that you become a jedi, you become like Superman in a world filled with little girls who’s cats have become stuck in their respective trees. Everywhere you go, it’s save my kid or rescue my sex-bot.

That’s right, rescue my sex-bot. I don’t want to spoil it for those of you who haven’t gotten this far, but on your first Padawan-adventure, you stumble across a lady who asks you to find her “companion” that has been kidnapped. After a lengthy attempt to tell her to fuck off, it becomes apparent that her “companion” is a “personal assistant droid” that has “taken the place of her husband” in her home. Immediatly, probably due to my predeliction for the dark side, I began thinking naughty thoughts. But apparently, I was right. When I came across the little metal bastard, he was crying about how he wanted to be destroyed so that he wouldn’t have to go back and “service” his master. Pretty early in the game for deviancy, but what do I care, I’ve got two lightsabers. What’s odd though, is that I have a droid of my own in the game and there’s no option whatsoever to “molest” him, nor is there a “service master” option when you take control of it. Perhaps that is because my droid looks more like an R-2, while hers was more of an early C3PO model. You know Threepio was a bottom. R-2 was the butch, Threepio was the bitch. End of story.

Parents, be forewarned. This game describes sexual situations involving the gratuitous raping of droids. Mind your children.

Remember the fat “Star Wars Kid”? His parents are suing now because he needs psychiatric care to repair his damaged little mind. I use the word “little” in the loosest of terms.

Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. 50% of the Southern Californian population is under the care of a psychiatrist, why does this kid feel so special? I’m sure his life was peachy keen before this video. With a body like that, I’m certain that his social stature sat somewhere between the skinny feebs that play Magic The Gathering and the guy who plays the triangle in the school band.

Blatently stolen from the forum.

According to Billy Ray, today is the delicious Anna Paquin’s birthday, so he’s demanding that I make her slice of the day. I’d normally be indignant and do nothing just to spite him, but I found some pics of her that I didn’t have. Plus she’s hot, and it gives me an excuse to put this pic on the main page again:

Damn.

Happy now, Billy? Good. Now go back to not playing Star Wars Galaxies.

So my girlfriend wants to go on this diet that her Mom got her interested in, right? It’s one of those retarded half-fasting diets. The kind that’s basically a binge diet that claims to work forever if you do it correctly. So she and her Mom get the shakes, and the liquid fasting drinks, and the snack things, and all of the pills. Then yesterday, when they were both supposed to start the damned thing, her Mom tells her that she can’t because she’s “too stressed” to fast for the next two days, which is what the diet calls for. So now the girlfriend is upset, because as we all know, girls can’t do a damned thing by themselves. So she comes cryin’ to me about how she doesn’t have anyone to fast with, and then works the old female charms on me. And by “female charms”, I mean “threats of sex deprivation.” Since I’m trying to get back into the gym more often and since I am a man and have needs, I decide to placate her and do the stupid diet. What can it hurt, right? I only have to do the fasting shit with her, which is two days. I’ve gone without food for two days before without any problems. Although I was in a liquor coma at the time, so I’m not sure if it counts.

So after a half-day of fasting, she’s bugging me like crazy trying to make sure that I’m not cheating. I tell her to worry about herself, because I have what we call “willpower”. That was a bold-faced lie, I have the willpower of a paper plate, but I can stop myself from eating by cramming my body full of water 24 hours a day. So after a solid 10 hours of fasting, listening to her incessently asking about my status, listening to her blab on about how good this is for us, guess what happens?

Damn right, she caved.

I, however, am nearly through day 2 and haven’t even thought about caving. Why did I continue? Guilt. That, and for some reason I like to rub victories in other people’s faces, no matter what the cost (ie: sex) or whom the victim.

Ladies, these binge diets are pointless. None of you can stick with them, and even if you do, you’ll never keep the weight off. Some people just can’t seem to realize that binge-anything does not work because your body just snaps back into its old routine the minute you stop the binge. If you’re a fatass and you lose 30 lbs. at the gym, chances are that you’ll have to keep going to the gym for the rest of your fucking life in order to keep those fat wrinkles from reattaching themselves to your formerly colossal ass. Learn, damn you all, learn!

This may seem to you like a completely pointless post, but consider this: I don’t think I can feel my feet, and I really have to pee. Food for thought.

Hey look, a couple of murderous cockbiters got what they deserved!

Hey look, a bunch of crybabies doing what they do best!

Soldier’s Response To Incessant Blubbering: “So sorry we couldn’t catch them alive for you, stereotypical liberal-guy. We tried bribing them with a bouqet and some candy, but they were too busy trying to fucking kill us to listen to reason. “

We’re a nation filled with people who like to laugh at the misforutune of others, yet you’re shocked and outraged when we poke fun at the deaths of child-killing criminals? Somehow it just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but maybe that’s because I’m not a liberal. If I were, I wouldn’t have created that incredibly tasteless image that you see to the immediate right of this post. But that’s not the world we live in, dear reader. You’ll just have to deal with that.

I think I’ve got the nerd-stink out of my clothes, so I feel safe posting again. Actually, the real reason for my silence is a fried motherboard (mine) and many tears (also mine, and also the guy at Frys who wouldn’t take it back.)

It’s been a pretty busy week for me. We all took a trek up to LA to see The Producers at the Pantages theatre on Saturday. Some of us went out to a pie place afterwards (‘natch) to unwind. I have to say, it was the best musical I’ve ever seen in all my days. Although, I think it might have been the only musical I’ve ever seen, but with all of the liquor that I’ve subjected my brain to, I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned out to have a past as a theater aficionado. The uh… non gay kind I mean. …I hope.

We had a good ol’ time at the Con. I was still reeling from the previous week’s dosage of absinthe, which somehow made me feel clumsy and incoherent. I can usually deal with those symptoms individually, but in combination they can be a bitch. Anyway, I don’t usually go down there to meet people, but I did shake hands with both Sean Astin and Tycho from Penny-Arcade. I think Tycho recognized me either from BAMF, or from swapping Scientology stories years ago. I didn’t ask, because at that particular moment I was trying to figure out why my teeth felt so funny. Stupid absinthe, why anyone would drink it habitually is beyond me. My girlfriend got all hot and bothered from meeting Sean Astin, which is pretty funny because I didn’t think anyone who constantly played the underdog in films could get a girl excited. Oh well, says I, whatever gets her crank turning is fine by me.

By the way, I’ve had to ration out the various portions of my life in order to maintain my unhealthy addiction to Star Wars: Knights Of The Old Republic. For a game that I thought sounded pretty stupid (that whole dice throwing shit is not my usual cup o’ tea) I’ve developed a mighty affection for the dark side of the force. There’s something deeply satisfying about telling your character to lie to a Yoda look-alike just to get your hands on a lightsabre. Satisfying, and pathetic all at the same time. I feel no remorse about my plans to immerse myself completely in the game until my girlfriend decides to pull me out for some nookie. Although knowing girls and how evil they actually are, that could take a very long time. She’ll probably pull me out of it so that she can watch A Knights Tale or something. All the more reason to immerse myself in this sad little pastime.

Did I mention I was still feeling a little out of it?