H’okay  folks.  This is an official announcement for a group event.  Friday, July 11th is opening night for The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and I intend to see it with as many of you as are willing to go.  Afterwards, we’ll go to Outback, and have a nice steak dinner, darlinks.

The details are a follows:

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
AMC Palace 20 — Elmwood
8:00pm

I suggest you buy your tickets in advance.  Dinner after the movie.  Heavy drinking after dinner.

Comment with your intention to attend, and we’ll try to coordinate arrival times, holding seats, etc.

Be there, or be trapezoidal.

Ok, now this is rich. I stumbled across a site named Things My Girlfriend And I Have Argued About. Thank me later when you can breathe.

So, this week brings two of the landmark events of the year together.

First and foremost, RhondaLady and I have been married for eight years as of today, June 30th. All told, we’ve been together for fourteen years. Yes, Methuselah catered our reception — and a number of you dear readers were there, getting drunk for nary a thin dime I might add. Good job, that’s what the booze was there for.

Second, my blushing bride will be another year older on Friday, July 4th. Yup, she’s a Yankee Doodle Dandy. Correction, she’s my Yankee Doodle Dandy. I don’t think she’s squeamish about her age, but discretion is the better part of valor, so I shant bring it up here. Ask her your own damned self.

I swear, I don’t know how she puts up with all of my crap. I’m not the easiest person to live and deal with on a daily basis, but I do the best I can to be the best person, and husband that I can. I love her dearly, and not just for not killing me yet. She’s the most wonderful person I know, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without her.

RhondaLady my dear, I love you more than I could ever convey with words. For once, I am at a loss to express myself.

I do a fair amount of web surfing, and I have a meandering path of sites I read on a regular basis. I refer to them as My Dailies, even though I don’t catch them all every day. Of course all of you — my homies — get a few hits every day. I then have my news sites, comic sites, gaming & industry sites and my complete stranger sites.

The "complete stranger" sites are the ones I’ve stumbled across through one or more different avenues of links. I honestly couldn’t tell you how I found most of them. Internet journaling and blogging are not new concepts by any stretch of the imagination, but have been catching on more and more in recent months. It’s quite a phenomenon, and I’ll discuss this at a later time. These complete strangers most typically are bloggers. They’ve turned out to be fairly interesting people to read even, likely especially, never having met or even spoken to them. That, I think, is part of what makes them so interesting.

One of these strangers — Erika — is a young lady who is a very talented artist. She, along with a select and devoted crew of equally talented young folks, produce their own web comics. Not your mainstream knee-slapping sort of rag, but some well written, composed, drawn and inked independent comics. Good stuff, really. One day I noticed that she linked to her LiveJournal from the comic page and I decided to have a peek, being the natural voyeur that I am.

The first thing I discovered is a very close, tight-knit community of friends, amongst which was Erika. They are fiercely loyal and protective of each other, regardless of their respective geographic locations, color, race, creed or sexual orientation. Sounds a little familiar to me, considering who my audience is. They all share a love for producing art and comics for the sheer joy of doing it, and they genuinely support each other in this endeavor.

Recently, Erika announced to the world that she was gay, and madly in love. Really no surprise if you read her journal long enough. One problem. Really, the biggest problem as I understand it. Family. Her mom. Seems mommy dearest didn’t take too kindly to the news. Her mom instantly latched on to the idea that her only daughter was going through some college rebellion phase in her life.

In an effort to help her family understand and accept, and to help organize her own thoughts and feelings about her sexuality, Erica wrote a short essay. Incidentally, she’s turning the essay into a forty-page comic for the San Diego Comic-Con.

Please take a few minutes of your time and go read the essay HERE. I promise, you won’t miss the time.

Here on my blog, I may give the impression that I am a harsh, foul-mouthed angry kind o’ guy. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I’m just a regular person, subject to the slings and arrows that the world flings at everyone. I pride myself on trying to be the best person I can, judging those around me on their merit and worth, not on the color of their skin, and especially not on whom they choose to love and keep close.

The world is a rough place to live in, and friendship can make the road we travel a little easier to handle. Love can make that road smooth as glass. Love will make you float inches above that pothole-strewn path. If you are one of the fortunate ones in this world to find a companion to buoy you up, to make you laugh during the day, keep you warm at night and put up with your crap around the clock, I don’t care who it is. You can be a lovely he-she, he-he, she-she or it-it couple, it doesn’t matter. Bravo, I say. Congratulations! Mazel tov!

When I read Erika’s essay, I was extremely moved. Here was a person who was trying her damnedest to make her mother understand, to really see her for who she is, and rejoice in her happiness. She took great pains to illustrate the loving relationship, regardless of the mating, or rather the non-mating parts involved.

I won’t lie to you and say that I didn’t think of some of my good friends… how could I not. My path in this life has crossed, and will cross that of many interesting people. Incidentally, several of them are gay. Captain once paid me the greatest compliment. Upon observing my casual attitude around him, he asked me point blank "you really don’t have any problems around gay people, do you?" I was shocked. Should I have problems? I didn’t think it was anything so remarkable. Apparently it was, especially in the South.

He was my friend, how could I have a problem with him? He wasn’t hurting me, or anyone I cared for. Nope, he didn’t have any puppy torturing equipment. No apparent weapons of mass destruction and a trigger. He occasionally fed me… hell, if you feed me every now and again, you’ve got a friend for life. What was the big deal? That whole loving, kissing, fucking other men thing? And? He wasn’t trying to fuck me, so it never bothered me. We respected each other as human beings, and that’s all that mattered.

It’s a shame that most of this "civilized society" we live is way too wrapped up in externals. It’s all about what’s in your head and heart that matters. If the planet were fueled by a little more mutual respect and common courtesy, we’d be a hell of a lot better off. I might not even curse as much. Nah, not likely.

Surround yourself with good friends — good people — and love ’em all. Those good people are a treasure greater than gold or diamonds. If you can find someone you can really Love, with the capital "L" and all, more power to you. Sure, you may bicker and fight now and again, but you’ll always get under the skin of someone you’re that close to. Just think of the "make-up" sex you’ll have.

Wanna talk about this blog? Head on over to the forum.

There’s been some sawdust in the air at the old DmentiA estate this weekend. I’ve got a few new additions to the site.

First, I’ve added the capacity to selectively enable comments for my blog entries — just check out the upper right hand corner of this message. When I started out, I wasn’t concerned with comments as I was writing for my own entertainment. Time has passed, and more of our extended family have web pages, blogs and comments. I find that I’m writing for a larger audience than I started out with, and I want the capacity to get feedback from you folks on certain things, without the necessity for people to have to send email.

That still leaves another problem. Entire conversations are being held in blog comments and they inevitably get cycled down the page as new blog entries are added, the thread lost or dropped, no more to be said. It makes it hard to have a really good discussion. The happy medium is to link a blog entry to a forum, which is an environment better suited for that sort of thing. That is also an option that I have now.

The second new addition to the family is the Cam Portal that I so recently talked about. The first phase is to get the folks interested in participating to contact me for details. I’ll tell you this much: it involves a camera of some sort and the capacity to store a picture in a web accessible area (i.e. a web page). I think we can have a lot of fun with this.

Ok, I’ve been twiddling with this idea since before Mardi Gras, and I think the timing might be right.

The blog/journal thing has become quite popular with the world today. We’ve got quite a good web presence established within our twisted little community alone. We use our blogs for a lot of things – to speak our minds, make announcements, show off, congratulate others, etc, but more than anything else, we are using them to keep in touch with each other. Entire conversations have been held in comment sections. It’s a good way to let the rest of the people you care about know what’s a-happening, if they are interested in knowing. It’s time to take the communications to the next level.

A camera portal.

Most all of us have some form of digital imaging device, whether it be a digital camera, webcam or what have you. What I’d like to do is set up a page where anyone who cares to participate can display an image that can dynamically be changed at their leisure. The images would be stored on your own web space, and would be required to fit within a pre-defined resolution. Once established, it should be maintenance free.

Here’s a good example of what I’m looking to do.

Let me know what y’all think of this – if you’re interested, any suggestions, etc. We have a lot of clever people in our community, I’d like to see this come to life and be a very cool thing indeed. I’ll propose a few things to my resident genius Raul – no Thirteen, not your Raul – and see what he has to say on the subject.

What has become of the world these days? Everyone has become politically correct. Overly sensitive to others feelings. Tippie-toeing around so as to not anger anyone. Eliminating perfectly good words and phrases from their vocabularies for the sake of politeness.

Why? Why bother? I mean, it’s all a sham. It’s a false front as a means to an end. It’s the most damnable form of dishonesty to lie to someone to their face, and that is exactly what you’re doing when you put on the sickly sweet "nice guy" persona. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be polite to people in general – I advocate that, but you shouldn’t suppress your inherent personality because Bob’s wife Freda doesn’t like people "who joke around a lot."

Being politically correct means using appropriate words and phrases which are engineered so as not to offend the subject of discussion, or possibly the other members in the discussion. For example, terms like African American piss me off. Are you African or American? You can’t be both, so pick one and cruise off to the appropriate locale. If you’re a voting, tax-paying, freedom loving denizen of this cohesive bundle of "States" primarily located within this northern continent… you’re a fucking American, and I don’t really give a heap of shit what color your skin is or where you originally came from. If you moved to this country and successfully navigated the Naturalization process, you’re an American. Period. If your ancestors came across on a boat – by hook, crook or free will, and your family has been here for generations, you’re an American. Period. Don’t like it? Hit the road, Jack. Anything else is just a diluted form of racism with a happy, shiny face put on it. I don’t truck with racism – on either side of the fence. I believe that everyone should have the chance to hate others for valid, genuine reasons. Racism is a cop-out.

We should also stop coddling the "sensitive" people in this world. Sometimes, folks just need to be told the ugly truths about themselves and the world around them. Knowing the truth allows us to change things as we see fit, if we see fit. If you’re too scared to tell your buddy that he has atrocious body odor and that he would do well to have a bath more frequently and some industrial strength deodorant might be a nice idea, he’ll never know. Then, he’ll go through life known as "that stank guy", or "Gorilla Pit", and that would be cruel. Especially since you came up with those names for him yourself.

Suppressing your emotions so you don’t upset others is another lie a lot of people live. What about yourself? If you’re all pissed off, you should at least be able to express it, shouldn’t you? I don’t mean throwing Buicks around like the Hulk or anything, but at least let it be known that you’re not a happy camper. If you’re ecstatic about something, let it out! You shouldn’t have worry if those with less or nothing to celebrate are going to feel like a smaller person because of it… hell most of those folks will cheer you along just to see someone happy, if not themselves.

If you try to go through this life trying not to make anyone angry, you’re doomed to fail. The object is to piss off as few people as you can, but deal with the ones you do in a straightforward fashion when you do. You don’t have to go out of your way to rile anyone up – well, not all the time – but it’s going to happen anyway. Folks are also going to make you very, very angry too at some time or another. Own it. Deal with it. Move on if you can, but be honest with yourself about it when it comes down.

Here are a few details about myself some of might or might not know. I’m pretty straightforward and easy to read. If I’m happy, you know it. If I’m depressed, you know it. If I’m angry, you r-e-a-l-l-y know it.

I’m a mellow guy who is always quick to help in times of need. I’m a smartass, with a sharp tongue. I love words. I am in love with the English language, every last syllable of it. I am especially enamored with the naughty, sinful words you’re not supposed to use in mixed company or in front of priests, children and other small mammals. I really groove on the combination of complex structures that evoke strong emotional responses… any emotion.

Here is where I have the most trouble with the so-called "polite society" we live in. We have such a rich vocabulary at our disposal, and yet we’re being told that there are certain words we shouldn’t say in the presence of some people, or at all. There are special words we must say in special circumstances. This isn’t a freedom of speech issue. It is not so much a matter of censoring words as it is censuring thought.

Why shouldn’t we use the oft condemned words of cursing? They are as much a part of our language as any other colloquialism deemed acceptable in everyday speech. What? Someone might get offended? Only if they let it offend them – it’s all in their minds. I know lots of people who are put off by the C word. They can’t even bring themselves to say it. Here, I’ll say it for them. Cunt. Cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt. It’s a lovely word. You know where you stand when someone says "cunt". It’s gritty and has a handful of connotations all of which allow you to clearly express yourself.

What I don’t get is these same people who shun the C word will gladly, even giddily use other naughty words like "fuck" and "dick". Let me demonstrate something:

"I rubbed my dick on her cunt, then I fucked her."

What makes the middle of that sentence any worse than the beginning or the end? Granted, the whole thing licks… er, lacks finesse, but it gets it’s point across in an execution style, elementary school dropout sort of way. Isn’t that what language is all about? Communication? Exchanging ideas?

Why limit yourself or others to a cattle-call of acceptable words and phrases, or worse yet, ban select ones that universally evoke a strong emotional response with their simplicity and straightforwardness. I can respect the man who can successfully convey a thought with a contrived, conservative and simple statement as easily as a spontaneous, convoluted and polluted one. I know folks who wield curses as precisely as DaVinci could wield a brush. It’s a beautiful thing.

It all boils down to this:

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Words can destroy countries and tear down mountains. They can kill, maim and rend. They can also heal, bring together and mend. They make the weak strong, and lovers fall in. They are magical things, but are only as strong as the thoughts behind them. That’s the crux. It’s not the words that do the damage, so why twist, emasculate, or mute them?

Our collective skins are not so thin that we can’t deal with a little straight-shooting. If they are, then we need to build calluses on our souls to protect us a little better. Let’s drop this entire political correctness pretense and get down to the business of communicating.

Cunts!

As most of you know, I’m a humble man.

You can stop laughing any time you like.

I truly am. There is a considerable difference between pride in your skills and accomplishments, and bragging to build yourself up, or just to show off. Nonetheless, this is a conversation for another day.

*ahem*

As most of you know, I’m a humble man. Just this once I’m going to step aside from that and say "Check this shit out, bitches. Lookie what I built that you don’t got. Try not to drool on the paint."

Ok, this project is no big surprise to most of you out there, but I’ve finally reached a point where I can say that it is complete. Not to say there isn’t work I’m currently doing on it and will be doing in the future.

*** WARNING: LONG-WINDEDNESS IS INEVITABLE ***

Meet PAC.

PAC started life as a Bally/Midway Pac-Man cabinet manufactured in 1984, signed, sealed and serial numbered. By the time I got my mitts on him, he had seen seventeen years of hard use and had been stripped of all parts not wooden or insignificant – basically an empty cabinet.

Why did I acquire this empty shell of a once great and mighty arcade game, one of the classic arcade games that defined the genre?

M.A.M.E.

Multiple Arcade Machine Emulator – the program that takes the original programming from the ROMs used in arcade games and emulates everything else using your PC: mainboard, sound, display, controls, etc. The upshot is that you’re playing the original games you enjoyed in the arcade, using your computer. Currently MAME supports 3936 ROM sets, 2254 being unique games. Lots of you have heard of it and no doubt installed and played with it on your own PC. It always lacked something. That one of a kind tactile feel and the clickity-click of the buttons and joysticks that you only get from standing and playing on true arcade games.

I stumbled across a whole society of people we never knew existed. Folks who live in the space between dimensions. Clever individuals who figured out that you can build a set of controls using genuine arcade parts and interface them with a computer.

Now, by the time I got on the scene, this community had already evolved through several stages:

• In the beginning there was the the "keyboard hack". Essentially, you dismantle a computer keyboard, trace out the contacts to map the keys, solder wires to the control board and connect them to the switch contacts of arcade buttons and joysticks. Take this whole rig, bang it into a box of some sort and whammo – you have an arcade control panel. While this is still a popular way of interfacing the controls, it has some drawbacks. The first is ghosting, which is the fact that all the keys on your keyboard share a common connection with some other keys, and pressing two of those keys at the same time can cause some unpredictable results… not good in the middle of a game. The second is keyscanning. There is a set interval – usually 16 times a second – that your keyboard scans for key presses and relays them to the computer. While that sounds pretty quick, it isn’t in the grand scheme of things. It’s not an instantaneous response to an input and can cause lag, and in some cases loss of input as the keyboard buffer floods.
• Not long after, someone also developed the "mouse hack". They figured out how to interface the optical sensors of a good old fashioned ball mouse to arcade trackballs and spinners, allowing them to plug straight into the PC. No real drawbacks to this except it’s a pain-in-the-ass to do, and the PC mouse is a lot more sensitive than a trackball and has a tendency to freak out when you give the ball a good, fast spin.
• It didn’t take long for people to fall in love with the idea of using real arcade controls. They grooved on it so much that they quickly made the next logical leap: "If I can make the control panel, why not put the whole shebang into an arcade cabinet and get the full experience?" And so it goes. Folks started modifying cabinets, and even building their own cabinets from scratch to give their arcade capable PCs a home.
• Later on, as the hobby started catching on, some exceptionally clever and enterprising guys who were pretty darned good with designing electronics developed keyboard emulators. Basically, several companies designed interfaces that the computer accepted as a keyboard and you could wire your buttons and sticks directly to without tearing up a keyboard – they even included little labeled terminal blocks you could run your wires to. The big advantages were ease of installation and no ghosting or keyscanning. Response times are faster and there is no key buffer to worry about.
• These same guys also developed optical interfaces for arcade trackballs and spinners that you could tie into the serial or USB ports of your computer. No more pain-in-the-ass hacking.
• There are some arcade equipment manufacturers who are now offering products that are specifically built with the MAME gamer in mind. Direct to PC arcade controls. How’s that for acceptance?

Evolution is a good thing. Now there are more sites you can go to for homework, research, tips, tricks, how-to etc. than you can shake a stick at. Controls are easy and cheap to get. Public forums are jammed to the rafters with friendly folks who are more than willing to help feed your habit. And it is a habit. It’s a mind-bending monkey that staples itself to your back and fills your thoughts to the brink of overflowing! Ain’t it grand?

So, fueled with this knowledge, the scales falling from my eyes as I discover this "hidden in plain sight" society of arcade-gamers-on-the-next-level, I set off to start my project.

Long story short – too late – I acquired my Pac-Man cabinet from a local ex coin-op technician named Bob Roberts who is still in the market of selling controls and replacement parts to the emulation and restoration communities. He’s a nice old grizzled guy, who is genuinely interested in helping the folks who are pursuing these hobbies. He has a wealth of knowledge and gives freely of it. He sold me the cabinet, all of my controls, an original Bally/Midway coin-door and an original Pac-Man marquee. Oh, and replacement monitor parts for my Nintendo Play-Choice 10 system – but that’s a different story.

The cabinet was in good structural shape, but was pretty shabby in the appearance department. The yellow coloring was fading, and the artwork had rubbed off near the front where years of leaning and playing had taken its toll. Hey, whadda ya’ expect for seventeen years of use? Still, it was a classic and I could have used it as was – it didn’t look that bad. Yeah, y’all know me well enough to know that I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I restored the exterior of the cabinet. I patched a few spots where the wood was bad, I filled in some holes, had the yellow, blue and red color-matched from a spot that had never seen the light of day and re-painted the entire cabinet and it’s artwork by hand. I also restored the coin-door and added working coin mechs to it so it will accept coins to trigger a credit in addition to my "coin-up" buttons (which I can disable, forcing people to pay-to-play if I so choose) and replaced the old T-molding with some fresh, bright orange new material. A lot of work, but fun.

I then proceeded to layout my control panel. I wanted a four-player control panel, with as many buttons as I could spare for each player. I had to have a trackball, and a spinner was a necessity as I am a Tempest player from way back. Due to evolution, I added a dedicated 4-way ball-top Pac-Man style joystick to the panel for games like, well, Pac-man and Q-bert, etc. where the common 8-way joystick would cause problems when you hit a diagonal direction. The big problem I had to face was the sheer size of a four-player control panel. How do I balance it on a cabinet originally designed for one player, and how do I get this beast through doors when I need to?

I eventually designed a decent layout, and beat the size problem to boot. I then commenced to build the removeable control panel. I ended up with a very satisfactory layout. It’s a lot of wiring, so I used Cat-5 cable to wire all the switches from the buttons and joysticks to the control boards. The trackball is a PC "Crystal Trackball", and the spinner was custom made for me by my friend Jeff out of solid stainless steel, with a Microsoft Optical mouse employed for tracking. In the bottom of the control panel I have two Ultimarc IPAC (no, not the Apple device) keyboard emulators in tandem to take all the button and stick inputs and translate them to keypresses and send them along to the PC.

I built a PC from spare parts, and is currently a P-III 600 with 384MB of RAM, a 15GB hard drive (7GB of which are just MAME ROMs) and an ATI Rage II video card with TV-out capabilities. Originally I had a 17" monitor in there that was rigged to rotate 90° so that games like Tempest and Pac-Man could be played in portrait mode, and games like Joust and Marvel Super Heroes could be played in landscape mode. It was a complex arrangement that I never had time to finish (i.e. it rotated by hand, but I was going to motorize it eventually). I’ve just recently put a 25" television stripped from its plastic housing into the cabinet, hooked it into the ATI video card and never looked back. Operating in Windows is a little fuzzy, but I’m not in this for Windows – the games look spectacular. Here are one or two examples of the games as they appear on the new display. Photos don’t do it justice.

The next item on the list of things I’m going to be doing to PAC stems from ideas I had in mind from the start of the project. I’d like to install other emulators like the Atari 2600, NES, SNES, Playstation, etc. Recently, after I got the TV installed, I had intended to hook-up my real SNES to it and stick it in the cabinet and trail the controllers through the coin-door. Gonzo recently reminded me that I should just run the emulator and use the nice arcade control panel to play the games. Doh! I had forgotten that’s what I set out to do 18 months ago when I started this project.

Yeah, I babbled on this time around – no big shock there – but I’m really proud of this project. I’ve even infected a few folks with the desire to build their own (and you know who you are). Those who won’t build will still come and mooch play-time on PAC. It’s a good thing.

The fact of the matter is I didn’t lose it. That doesn’t mean I didn’t get mad, but I didn’t have to put pictures of my temper on milk cartons, staple flyers to telephone poles or contact the local authorities to let them know it was lost. I kept my cool and didn’t kill anyone.

I wanted to. They had it coming, oh how they did.

But I didn’t. More on this in a bit.

So, like the rest of the cool people in this country I saw X2 on Friday and was extremely pleased. The good folks who made the movie did what I had hoped they would, and what I hope the second and third installments of The Matrix will do. They basically said: "You know all that shit we did in the first flick – all that background information, character development, groundwork about mutants and the way they fit into the world and our little team of heroes? Well I hope you do, because we aren’t going over that again. Sorry, Jack. Watch the first movie." They got down to the business of making a two hour and fifteen minute entertainment extravaganza. They expanded on character relationships, fleshed out a few things and added some new people and twists – most notably Nightcrawler. Sure, they distilled a few things down for the viewing audience, but they only have a few hours to work with, and they kept the parts that counted, and changed the things that could be done so without disrupting the X-Men franchise. I’m with Phreeq on this one – I was wanting to see X-Men III the very second I walked out of the theatre. Either that, or I would have gladly sat through a 4½-hour movie rather than 2¼-hours, if it meant the story continued. I say "bravo" to any filmmakers who can so thoroughly spellbind and entertain this jaded and critical moviegoer. Oh, and Wolverine dies. Gone. Never to return. Why are you still reading this paragraph? Weirdo.

Sunday night we celebrated Krazy’s birthday by having a tea party and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Aw, who am I fooling. We hung out and all went drinking at The Dock. Krazy, Slinky, Lisa, PickleScoop, Goofy, RhondaLady and myself all had a loverly time inebriating ourselves – yea Guinness! After a while Slinky and Lisa bowed out to go perform some illicit activity elsewhere, and even later Pickle, the gay Eskimo, took his giraffes and left. That left a well-fed (thereby removing any chance of complete intoxication) Krazy, a well-drunk (thereby removing any chance of complete coherence) Goofy and a well-satiated RhondaLady and myself (maintaining a good, if not low-level feeling of warmth). After a while, we decided to move to the top floor so Krazy and Goofy could ogle women more thoroughly in the thicker crowd. I made the executive decision to go and "pay the rent" (i.e. chip a hunk of porcelain from the urinal with the force of my straining bladder). RhondaLady wanted a Corona, and asked if I’d pick one up upon my return from the euphemism.

So there I was standing at the bar, basking in the glow of a mild buzz and the euphoria earned from relieving myself of approximately 37¼ gallons of used beer. Around me on all sides were people clamoring for a drink from the bartender, mostly college age harlots with way too much cleavage for their emaciated frames. I’m patiently awaiting my turn for the red-haired fellow behind the bar to get me RhondaLady’s beer. I realize after a few minutes that the crowd of nubile toothpicks around me has cycled out a few times, and that I’m the only one who hasn’t been served. I’m gradually starting to feel that familiar prickle in my brain. The adrenaline is starting to slowly drip, as though from an IV into my cerebral cortex. I’m rapidly losing by carefully cultivated buzz. I make a very conscious effort to remain calm and see if this red-headed little prick behind the bar will bother to serve me, even with the distinct lack of a pair of hooters surgically Velcroed to my chest. How long can he hold out avoiding my eyes as I all but drill my initials into his forehead with my laser-vision? Twenty minutes later I turn and walk away with a great deal of effort, empty-handed. My impulse was to reach across the bar, fold this Irish prick like a handkerchief and stuff him into the olive jar in front of me. Fuck physics, I’d have done it.

So I return to the table hot. Real hot, but in control of myself. That carrot topped buzz-kill sucked the joy right out of me, but I was damned if I’d let it ruin the remainder of the evening – which a bar-fight and subsequent arrest most certainly would have. So, I commence to calm down. Goofy, who is seated to my right, is loaded to the point where he has ceased to notice where that cigarette in his left hand is weaving around. Namely, almost into my right arm. So, I pluck the lit cherry bare handed from it’s tip and flick it from the table as he attempts to reattach it. He threatens me with a few slurred bodily harms and relights his smoke. Again, he’s not paying attention to where he’s got that cigarette and nearly burns me again. He’s faster this time and manages to pull his hand away as I reach for the tip. I steeple my hands under my chin, rest my elbows on the table and smile at him – check that – I present him with a smile that holds no joy and promises pain. I’m already aggravated, and with no satisfaction. Nearly having a cigarette extinguished on my arm – twice – has me no less giddy. Goofy says "let me show you a little trick I learned", and proceeds to pick up his Zippo, flick it open, light it and press it to my arm. A flash low in my peripheral vision, the distinct smell of burnt hair and the distant sensation of hot metal tell me that he has burnt away some of my arm hair and is getting a good start on my actual arm. No pain – the IV drip in my brain won’t allow that, and I never break my smile and eye-lock with him. As I sit there unblinking, looking into Goofy’s mildly glazed eyes, all I can think about is how quickly I could snatch them from his skull and eat them.

The burning was meant to be a scare tactic, but Goofy’s brain, laced with booze wasn’t moving his body as quickly as it should and that Zippo hovered there for a few seconds longer than I’m sure he intended. Again, I managed to resist the temptation to hurt, maim, kill and generally blitzkrieg a human being. Several factors played into this. One: Goofy is, well, goofy. He earned that handle for a reason – and I don’t think he intended to be more than a niggling asshole. Two: It was Krazy’s birthday party, and I didn’t want to ruin that with a trip for him to visit an old friend at the morgue. Third: Goofy is generally a decent human being and a valued member of the little society we have all created amongst our friends.

I, uh, didn’t let it just go. I needed some satisfaction. I managed to restrict myself to a bit of juvenile revenge. I swiped the flint from Goofy’s Zippo when he stepped away to use the phone. Hey, my first two impulses were to throw Goofy in the lake, or at least his "A" grade 2003 Zippo. What a lovely sound either of them would have made as they splashed into the water – "bloonk!". Later reports have told me that he was confused and inconvenienced by the inability of his precious lighter to work. So that’s something, I guess. Oh, and he did apologize to me as well, but only after threats of harm to his person made by Krazy. Apology accepted with one stipulation – do it again… I don’t give a rat’s ass how drunk you are… and we’ll see how well you can flick the flint wheel of a Zippo with your prostate.

C’est la vie. It’s in the past. I do believe that both incidents suffered without sufficient response, coupled with a lack of sufficient sleep put me into the foul mood I was in yesterday. But nobody died, and I stayed out of jail, so it’s a small price to pay. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be this well behaved in the future.

*sigh*

Ah, well.

Can’t… breathe!

*gasp* *choke*

Laughing… too hard!

Going into… cardiac arrest!

See for yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s two video files, and you must watch them in order.

Here’s the first video, and the background for what you’ll see. He has a link to the second video, but it might not work and that’s OK…

… because Papa DmentD has taken care of you with a working link here. Some rotten fucker took the time to edit, add visuals and sound effects. I only wish I had gotten to it first. Sheer genius.  Be sure to go back to the first link and read the comments that follow – that’s entertainment all by itself.

I, for one, love to have a laugh at some poor, unsuspecting bastard’s expense. I just filled my quota for this month in the space of five minutes. Email me if you need me to call an EMT for you.