Intelligence, according to Wikipedia, is an umbrella term used to describe a property of the mind that encompasses many related abilities, such as the capacities to reason, to plan, to solve problems, to think abstractly, to comprehend ideas, to use language, and to learn.
After spending the last few nights of my life wasting away to countless episodes of CSI: Las Vegas, I have come to the conclusion that they are wrong.
Gil Grissom is the man. Anyone who watches the show knows that. When it comes to getting stuff done, he is numero uno. If you commit a crime, you are getting caught under his watch. Don't even bother messing around with the evidence, getting false testimony, changing your gender, killing the witnesses, etc. It's no good against this gumshoe.
I consider Grissom to be the epicenter of intelligence. The modern day Coeus. By diving deeper into his personality, it has allowed me to get a bird's-eye view of what intelligence really is. It's not being able to find the derivative of the limit of the log of ln(x). It's not being able to deeply analyze the world, make profound psycological breakthroughs, or even developing ideas that rock the foundation of society.
It's about knowing random facts, and being able to introject them in conversation at the correct time.
- Being able to console that cross-dresser by telling her about oysters that are able to spontaneously change gender.
- Knowing the key ingredients to everything ever made, and what the human bodies reaction to each ingredient is.
- Making references to Van Gogh when a victim is missing their ears.
- Confusious: "If you try and chase two rabbits you end up losing them both."
- Countless more examples that I can't even begin to fathom at the moment. I don't have enough time to list them all.
I present you the smartest man alive.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Music.
I understand that different kinds of people like different kinds of music. Different stuff floats different people's boat. However. I've noticed an increasing number of boys jamming to The Kooks, Jack Johnson, and the GooGoo Dolls.
Being the self-proclaimed "Most Hardcore Mother-fucker Alive", I only listen to metal. No other types of bands are really music. ACDC, The Beatles and Elton John are all posers. They just take stuff that Slayer has already produced and pump it full of estrogen. Unoriginal.
That guy with the multiple piercings and 16k silver wallet chains? The one walking around school in his Lamb of God shirt every single day? The one that you always see shredding on the guitar after school; pumping out Dragonforce, the hardest metal known to man, like some sort of aparition of death? Yeah. That's me.
I laugh as I walk down the sidewalk and these Weezer fans jump out of the way in fear of the good ol' fashion five fingers of fury. I can't think of a kid in town whose ass I haven't kicked.
Yeah, I've got a weapon on me. More than one actually. Razors, Iron knuckles, my spiked HIM belt, all that. If you were raised like me, you more than likely would also. Murders, kidnappings, I've seen it all. Done it all.
Damn right I'm in the Anime Club. I co-founded it. You claim it isn't good? That I'm a weeaboo? Shows what you really know. Anime is the best form of artwork in the world aside from Slayer albums. It is able to capture emotions and ninja techniques ten times better than film.
I just figured I'd tell all the other guys out there to quit being girly-men, and start rockin-n-rollin like I do if you ever want to get somewhere. If you don't have Slayer playing on your iPod every waking second of your life, do me a favor and get out of mine. Get a taste in music, and realize that you're wrong about what is right.
Being the self-proclaimed "Most Hardcore Mother-fucker Alive", I only listen to metal. No other types of bands are really music. ACDC, The Beatles and Elton John are all posers. They just take stuff that Slayer has already produced and pump it full of estrogen. Unoriginal.
That guy with the multiple piercings and 16k silver wallet chains? The one walking around school in his Lamb of God shirt every single day? The one that you always see shredding on the guitar after school; pumping out Dragonforce, the hardest metal known to man, like some sort of aparition of death? Yeah. That's me.
I laugh as I walk down the sidewalk and these Weezer fans jump out of the way in fear of the good ol' fashion five fingers of fury. I can't think of a kid in town whose ass I haven't kicked.
Yeah, I've got a weapon on me. More than one actually. Razors, Iron knuckles, my spiked HIM belt, all that. If you were raised like me, you more than likely would also. Murders, kidnappings, I've seen it all. Done it all.
Damn right I'm in the Anime Club. I co-founded it. You claim it isn't good? That I'm a weeaboo? Shows what you really know. Anime is the best form of artwork in the world aside from Slayer albums. It is able to capture emotions and ninja techniques ten times better than film.
I just figured I'd tell all the other guys out there to quit being girly-men, and start rockin-n-rollin like I do if you ever want to get somewhere. If you don't have Slayer playing on your iPod every waking second of your life, do me a favor and get out of mine. Get a taste in music, and realize that you're wrong about what is right.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
March, trying to meet quota.
With Super Smash Bros. Brawl released, I don't know if I have time for life anymore. As sad as it sounds, I feel like I just had a deployed father come home to me.
My ex, who I am still good friends with, isn't allowed to talk to me anymore because she has a super clingy boyfriend... hope she is able to get out of that one!
My ex, who I am still good friends with, isn't allowed to talk to me anymore because she has a super clingy boyfriend... hope she is able to get out of that one!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Sports. Serious business.
So, as I assume everyone already knows, the Giants unexpectedly won the Superbowl last night. I watched the game up in Wilmington, and was actually rather excited that someone got the Patriots back for beating the Panthers. We were all kind of drunk when it ended, and a few of my friends brought up the idea of calling Stu and Big John up in New Bern to ridicule them about their "Unbeatable team" losing the Superbowl.
Before I go any farther, let me just make it clear I have no interest in football, or sports at all for that matter. Instead of watching the game on Monday night, I sit at my house and kill Internet dragons with my buddies. I was just looking forward to the chance to make someone mad.
So Gunderdick sends Stu a text massage saying "Haha patriots lost".
Almost instantly, Stu calls him up and begins to flip out. He talks about how Gdick doesn't know what he is saying, about how lucky the Giants got, and how Gdick is a moron in general. About 14 minutes into the conversation, it doesn't even have anything to do the the game anymore.
Gunderson slams his phone shut, vows that he will "Kill Stu", goes inside, and slams the door shut; more than likely waking up the two girls that were under us.
Naglefar, the voice of reason, sits outside with me for a while and we both came to the conclusion that sports are a game, and if if they make your life, you're a tool. However, we also decided that we would egg both of them on in a chance to see two of our good friends fight to the death. I'm putting money on Gdick, and will be selling tickets on a future blog post if the events do occur.
In conclusion, if you let sports rule your life to the extent that you are willing to get in physical fight over a game and a text message, you're doing it wrong.
Before I go any farther, let me just make it clear I have no interest in football, or sports at all for that matter. Instead of watching the game on Monday night, I sit at my house and kill Internet dragons with my buddies. I was just looking forward to the chance to make someone mad.
So Gunderdick sends Stu a text massage saying "Haha patriots lost".
Almost instantly, Stu calls him up and begins to flip out. He talks about how Gdick doesn't know what he is saying, about how lucky the Giants got, and how Gdick is a moron in general. About 14 minutes into the conversation, it doesn't even have anything to do the the game anymore.
Gunderson slams his phone shut, vows that he will "Kill Stu", goes inside, and slams the door shut; more than likely waking up the two girls that were under us.
Naglefar, the voice of reason, sits outside with me for a while and we both came to the conclusion that sports are a game, and if if they make your life, you're a tool. However, we also decided that we would egg both of them on in a chance to see two of our good friends fight to the death. I'm putting money on Gdick, and will be selling tickets on a future blog post if the events do occur.
In conclusion, if you let sports rule your life to the extent that you are willing to get in physical fight over a game and a text message, you're doing it wrong.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Turok
As most of you know, I have an undying love for video games and dinosaurs. Therefore, years ago when I saw Turok 64 on the shelves of Target, I was instantly sold. Well, not instantly actually.
Here is a quick synopsis of the storyline of Turok 64: You're an Indian who is in the past, but is ALSO in the future. At the same time. I don't know how they sucked me into believing that, but I was eight years old at the time. You're in the past to kill another Indian, but the game doesn't give you a reason why. He didn't kill your family, he isn't attempting to rise to power in any way, he doesn't do anything bad at all. He just lives Indian life, and probley smokes hookah all day.
On the way to kill him, you also slaughter hordes of dinosaurs. Again, for no reason. At all. Hell, it's not even in self defense. You hear a T-Rex roar on the other side of the continent, run over, and stick your sword in his butt. Then you treck ALL the way back to the other coast and start chasing after your Native American rival again.
Eventually you get to some tower in the middle of the jungle, fight a giant praying mantis, and kill the Indian at the top. With a crossbow, for some reason. You use semi-automatic firearms throughout the entire game, but when you fight your rival you have to use a crossbow. Not just any crossbow either. This was a Future-Past Crossbow.
Turok came out for the 360 today, and my work had too few copies for me to check out. Boo hoo; I suppose I have to wait. I. the meantime, I guess I'm going to sell my body in an attempt to buy a Wii before SSBB come out.
Here is a quick synopsis of the storyline of Turok 64: You're an Indian who is in the past, but is ALSO in the future. At the same time. I don't know how they sucked me into believing that, but I was eight years old at the time. You're in the past to kill another Indian, but the game doesn't give you a reason why. He didn't kill your family, he isn't attempting to rise to power in any way, he doesn't do anything bad at all. He just lives Indian life, and probley smokes hookah all day.
On the way to kill him, you also slaughter hordes of dinosaurs. Again, for no reason. At all. Hell, it's not even in self defense. You hear a T-Rex roar on the other side of the continent, run over, and stick your sword in his butt. Then you treck ALL the way back to the other coast and start chasing after your Native American rival again.
Eventually you get to some tower in the middle of the jungle, fight a giant praying mantis, and kill the Indian at the top. With a crossbow, for some reason. You use semi-automatic firearms throughout the entire game, but when you fight your rival you have to use a crossbow. Not just any crossbow either. This was a Future-Past Crossbow.
Turok came out for the 360 today, and my work had too few copies for me to check out. Boo hoo; I suppose I have to wait. I. the meantime, I guess I'm going to sell my body in an attempt to buy a Wii before SSBB come out.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Foreign language
Ever since Sophomore year, I have had a lack of enthusiasm for school. I haven't been able to do my homework, I haven't been able to pay attention in class, and I have definitely not been able to respect many of the teachers that are employed that are often in charge of leading the classrooms. Although I was hoping the teachers would get better as I made the slow and steady trek through high school, it turns out most of them are the same.
If you want to talk about a terrible school department, ask me about Spanish. I took Spanish 1 in my Sophomore year, and honestly consider it the worst mistake I have ever made. Actually, the first two weeks of class weren't that bad. We had a decent teacher who knew what she was doing. Then, out of the blue, she decided to retire. Two weeks into the semester and she decides to retire. Of course, the Craven Country School System, being the incompetent people they are, had no idea what to do.
Two days later we have a new teacher. Her name is Mrs. Nogalam, and she seems to be a decent lady. "Como esta!" she greets the class, as if we're some sort of spanish natives. She is returned with silence, mainly due to the fact that no one had any clue what she said said. "¿Que'tal?" she inquired; only to be met with blank stares and questioning faces from her students.
That was when it hit me. The Craven County School Board hired a Columbian woman who had no idea how to speak English. She had no clue how to speak English, and we had no clue how to speak Spanish. What an awesome learning environment.
She passes out notebooks and tells us "Work please." No instructions, just "Work please." "Please tell me this is a joke God." I had to suffer through her class for the next 16 weeks of my life. I finished my workbook, the one that is supposed to take all semester, in three days. I figured she wouldn't actually check them, so I just rewrote the question in the answer blank. Hell, I my friend Whitey wrote the word "Pero-gato" in every answer blank in the book and finished in three hours. For those of you who don't know, this means "Dog-cat". We both got 100's.
Over the course of the class a few interesting things happened. A black kid in my class spilled lemonade on the floor, and she tried to suspend him for urinating in her class. We tried to tell her it was lemonade, but she didn't listen.
I had gotten to class early one day, so it was just myself and her in the class. I say "Buenos dias" and go to sit down when I hear trampling feet behind me. A 6'x" black kid runs into the classroom, leaps all the way to the ceiling, screams "KOBE!!!!!" at the top of his lungs, and karate chops a pinata, hanging over the desk she is sitting at, in half. It explodes and candy rains down from the heavens as if we're in some sort of sugar carrying El Nino. It lands all over her, myself, and practically every other square inch of the classroom. The kid falls to the ground, grabs a piece of candy, and bolts out the door. I have never seen this kid again but, to this day, he is my hero.
In retrospect, I actually had quite a few funny moments in the class. I also didn't have to do any work at all. Too bad I didn't learn anything and have to suffer for it now. I have Mrs. Drofmom this semester, and she honestly isn't that bad.
If you want to talk about a terrible school department, ask me about Spanish. I took Spanish 1 in my Sophomore year, and honestly consider it the worst mistake I have ever made. Actually, the first two weeks of class weren't that bad. We had a decent teacher who knew what she was doing. Then, out of the blue, she decided to retire. Two weeks into the semester and she decides to retire. Of course, the Craven Country School System, being the incompetent people they are, had no idea what to do.
Two days later we have a new teacher. Her name is Mrs. Nogalam, and she seems to be a decent lady. "Como esta!" she greets the class, as if we're some sort of spanish natives. She is returned with silence, mainly due to the fact that no one had any clue what she said said. "¿Que'tal?" she inquired; only to be met with blank stares and questioning faces from her students.
That was when it hit me. The Craven County School Board hired a Columbian woman who had no idea how to speak English. She had no clue how to speak English, and we had no clue how to speak Spanish. What an awesome learning environment.
She passes out notebooks and tells us "Work please." No instructions, just "Work please." "Please tell me this is a joke God." I had to suffer through her class for the next 16 weeks of my life. I finished my workbook, the one that is supposed to take all semester, in three days. I figured she wouldn't actually check them, so I just rewrote the question in the answer blank. Hell, I my friend Whitey wrote the word "Pero-gato" in every answer blank in the book and finished in three hours. For those of you who don't know, this means "Dog-cat". We both got 100's.
Over the course of the class a few interesting things happened. A black kid in my class spilled lemonade on the floor, and she tried to suspend him for urinating in her class. We tried to tell her it was lemonade, but she didn't listen.
I had gotten to class early one day, so it was just myself and her in the class. I say "Buenos dias" and go to sit down when I hear trampling feet behind me. A 6'x" black kid runs into the classroom, leaps all the way to the ceiling, screams "KOBE!!!!!" at the top of his lungs, and karate chops a pinata, hanging over the desk she is sitting at, in half. It explodes and candy rains down from the heavens as if we're in some sort of sugar carrying El Nino. It lands all over her, myself, and practically every other square inch of the classroom. The kid falls to the ground, grabs a piece of candy, and bolts out the door. I have never seen this kid again but, to this day, he is my hero.
In retrospect, I actually had quite a few funny moments in the class. I also didn't have to do any work at all. Too bad I didn't learn anything and have to suffer for it now. I have Mrs. Drofmom this semester, and she honestly isn't that bad.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Shallow
I'll admit it. I'm a pretty shallow guy. Go ahead and scold me for it, for frankly I don't care too much. It's not like it's something I can help. I sub-consciously like good-looking people more than others. You probably do it as well, even if you haven't realized it to the extent I have.
Soon, to sound as cliche as possible, I'm going to be heading out into the real world. I'm meeting a lot of new "virtual friends" (I am awesome) who will be going to school with me next year, and I can already tell that this is going to be a problem. I get AIM messages from people that have found my name through Facebook, and look them up to see what they look like before even responding to their hello. Here is how a typical conversation goes with someone I don't find to my interest.
XxFaTbItCh69xX: Hey! I saw you on Facebook and you seem like a really interesting person. I'd really love to talk to you and find out more about you, as well as your plans for next year.
Me: Hello. (I then realize I accidentally responded before the necessary inspection, and go to search for them on Facebook. I realize my mistake in responding).
XxFaTbItCh69xX: What's up?
Me: Nothing much, I was just printing off some pictures of you.
XxFaTbItCh69xX has signed off at 11:32:45.
OR
XxFaTbItCh69xX: Hey! I saw you on Facebook and you seem like a really interesting person. I'd really love to talk to you and find out more about you, as well as your plans for next year.
Me: (No response)
XxFaTbItCh69xX: What's up? You there?
Me: (No response)
XxFaTbItCh69xX: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY! Where are you! I really want to talk!
Me: (About fifteen minutes after her first message) Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to leave my AIM on. You won't believe it. I just finished my sculpture of my level 70, Orc Shaman. I made it out of toothpicks, took me two years.
XxFaTbItCh69xX has signed off at 11:32:45.
I think that I just need to watch Shallow Hal a few times and let the morals sink in.
Soon, to sound as cliche as possible, I'm going to be heading out into the real world. I'm meeting a lot of new "virtual friends" (I am awesome) who will be going to school with me next year, and I can already tell that this is going to be a problem. I get AIM messages from people that have found my name through Facebook, and look them up to see what they look like before even responding to their hello. Here is how a typical conversation goes with someone I don't find to my interest.
XxFaTbItCh69xX: Hey! I saw you on Facebook and you seem like a really interesting person. I'd really love to talk to you and find out more about you, as well as your plans for next year.
Me: Hello. (I then realize I accidentally responded before the necessary inspection, and go to search for them on Facebook. I realize my mistake in responding).
XxFaTbItCh69xX: What's up?
Me: Nothing much, I was just printing off some pictures of you.
XxFaTbItCh69xX has signed off at 11:32:45.
OR
XxFaTbItCh69xX: Hey! I saw you on Facebook and you seem like a really interesting person. I'd really love to talk to you and find out more about you, as well as your plans for next year.
Me: (No response)
XxFaTbItCh69xX: What's up? You there?
Me: (No response)
XxFaTbItCh69xX: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY! Where are you! I really want to talk!
Me: (About fifteen minutes after her first message) Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to leave my AIM on. You won't believe it. I just finished my sculpture of my level 70, Orc Shaman. I made it out of toothpicks, took me two years.
XxFaTbItCh69xX has signed off at 11:32:45.
I think that I just need to watch Shallow Hal a few times and let the morals sink in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)