02282K5
Added The Origin and History of Shaboria to the miscellaneous texts section of the text archives.
02262K5
More shaborian fun: added shaborianhacks.htm to the messenger archives.
02242K5
People around here either drive incredibly slow like they have a fear of driving, or they drive like uncivilized assholes. I've only been able to find a few people who drive like they probably should.
People at red lights piss me off. They slowly creep up to come about two inches away from the bumper of the person in front of them. Then the person behind them will do the same, and so-on. Then the person in front creeps up a little past the line, like he just can't wait to bolt off the line and speed down the highway to get to his destination as quickly as possible, and the rest follow with the creeping. Meanwhile I have bad brakes and don't feel like creeping, so I stay where I'm at, which ends up being one carlength or a half of a carlength behind someone, and then the people behind me creep up even further like they're waiting for me to move up. Sometimes the idiot will blow their horn, and I have to resist every urge to get out of the car and beat their face into their horn button like rubbing a dog's nose in a puddle of piss on the living room carpet. The only point to moving is if you're making room for someone to get over to a turning lane. It's rarely the case. People apparently genuinly believe that moving forward six feet at a redlight will get them to where they need to be a little quicker. Then the light turns green, and we expect the guy at the front to speed off like a top fuel dragster, burning in anguish from the torture of having to obey traffic laws. Instead, he gently nudges the accelerator like he has some rare skin disease on the bottom of his foot and even the slightest pressure can render him steril (which would be a good thing, as people such as this should not be allowed to procreate), and it takes a long time to get moving because everyone is inches away from the person-in-front-of-them's bumper and they have to wait for them to be at a safe distance ahead of them before they can themselves accelerate with the burning frenzy of a stoned sloth.
Then there's the enraged soccer mom, who's even more frustrated than usual because she was behind me and I didn't creep up like everyone else. The exhaust of her 5.7 FEMI in her Dodge Durango or whatever the fuck that piece of shit was roars with bestial vigor as she revs high and rides her brakes behind the slow woman in the white Caddy after she cuts off a van to get next to me, like an attention-starved two-year-old banging pots together.
And then there are the ricers and other kids who have cars that have a slight possibility judged on looks alone of being faster than your car, and they are going to show it every chance they can get. Their parents' money goes a long way in performance upgrades, such as exhaust tips and decals. The other day I was following about six feet behind a truck and some integra gets up next to me and revs as he inches past the truck and gets over to my lane. Yeah, you showed me, buddy. Go on a street racing message board sponsored by Tang and NeoPets and tell them how you smoked a Grand National. Surely, your penis must be of gargantuan measure. It probably shrunk a bit, though, when the bikers behind him moved up and pointed, laughed and revved after giving me the thumbs up. Those guys were cool.
02182K5
My grandmother's going out of town for two days.
Both her and my aunt Linda will be calling "regularly" (meaning constantly) to "check up" on us.
She'll be gone for two days.
She bought two packages of hotdogs and hotdog buns, a box of corn dogs, six frozen pizzas, four boxes of hot pockets, six boxes of another brand of hot pocket things, five boxes of frozen lasagna meals, six boxes of hungry man frozen dinners, four jars of ranch dip, two bags of Lays potato chips, a bunch of bananas and made large portions of baked ziti and chicken & rice. She bought all of this on Wednesday and said we couldn't have any of it until this weekend so we don't run out.
Yep. Two whole days.
She left numbers of all my relatives on my father's side on the refridgerator, along with her cell phone number, and a reminder to feed the dog, in case both my brother an I catch a bad case of oops-I-forgot-every-fucking-thing-I-know.
Two days.
She spent ten minutes explaining to my brother an I how to feed the dog, and since she doesn't trust us to give him water she filled two pans of it and left them out on the front porch, and told me to fill one up so that he can drink from the other while I'm filling it.
She'll be gone for two days.
I hope I don't fuck up and starve the dog, myself and my brother to death.
02142K5
My dad's been bugging me all weekend about some documentary called "We Sold Our Soul for Rock and Roll," which he says is about how rock bands are evil or something. I listen to jazz and classical, so I really don't care. Well, and occasionally Megadeth, but he doesn't know that. So, I kept having to make up shit about why I can't come over to watch this film that I couldn't care any less about (by the way, a lot of people fuck that phrase up and say "I could care less," implying that it is possible for you to be even less concerned than you already are, while the correct phrase implies that you are uncaring as uncaring can get. Get it right. Jeez.), and everytime he called he had to talk for at least twenty fucking minutes, and I'm not even sure what it was about because he talks so much I naturally stop listening and go into a state of programmed subconsciousness in which I say nothing but "yeah," "uh-huh" and "ok." I wish I had enough free time to put watching movies at the top of my list of priorities, and spend my days talking to someone who may as well be a wall. Maybe one of these days he'll stop being a leech on society and get off his lazy ass for the amount of consecutive seconds required to be spent in order to get a job. Not likely, though, especially when he thinks he can get thousands of dollars from some old lady who rear-ended him and did $0 damage to both him and his bigass truck.
I ordered the brake parts. All good stuff -- Powerslot rotors, EBC pads, Kirban shoes, stainless steel braided lines, ATE blue fluid -- for about $420 with shipping. When I get my tax return I'm buying a TA-49 or a GT3255E turbo, and I'm going to get a watercooling setup for my PC. Gotta make sure I stay broke, or else my dad will be asking for money.
02102K5
Added aakash.htm to the messenger archives.
02092K5
I watched Stanley Kubrick's The Killing last night. Now I know where Quintin Tarentino got the basic idea for Reservoir Dogs.
02082K5
Just paid my insurance. Looking at my online bank statement, I kinda feel like I've just been kicked in the groin. Next week I'm ordering about $400 of brake parts: pads, shoes, rotors, lines and fluid. Then I need to get a new turbo. By the time I've saved up for that, it'll almost be time to pay my insurance again. I wish I could blame something, like my wallet, but apparently anorexia is a disease and it's not her fault.
02032K5
Yesterday sucked. I got maybe three hours of sleep, and while doing so nearly choked on my own hair. On my way to work I smelled oil burning everytime I built boost, meaning my turbo won't last too much longer. Still have this fever that seems to come and go. I'll go from freezing and shivvering to burning up and sweating. Felt fine until around noon, then I wanted to die. Stayed the rest of the day, then went home and went to sleep until around 8. Woke up, played WoW until about 11, then I sat in the dark for a while because the light was giving me a headache. Went to bed, got about the same amount of sleep. At least my head isn't pounding today.
Shit, shouldn't have said anything.
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