Life Outside PLT1

NO UPDATES! HOLY SHIT I GOTTA WRITE SOMETHING! GAY PORN MAILING LIST!

Well what can I write here to break the uncanny silence imposed by whatever the fuck is going on that masquerades as laziness?

Well; a few days ago I got sent a nigerian scam letter from a woman claiming to be from the ivory coast so I replied by sending a picture of Tank Abbott and a copy of my critically acclaimed short story “Wang Justice”. That wasn’t my original plan but I got bored with my original plan; in pursuit of my original plan “gay porn mailing list” entered my google search history. I haven’t cleared my search history yet, I only ever do so about twice a year since i’m not really paranoid about it being found out people really won’t find out anything interesting from it that they don’t already know, it’s not exactly a huge secret that I really really like pornography, in fact the only real difference that seperates pornography from art is that I like it. But the thing that may strike investigators as a suprise would be the phrase “gay porn mailing list” so i’d like to state for the record right now that I am not a gay porn afficianado and I do not typically sign myself up to receive updates about explicit man-on-man relations.

It feels good to put that in public writing; interestingly enough “gay porn mailing list” isn’t such an exciting search term to browse, part of my decision to abandon my original plan (re: nigerian scam letter) was the fact that I could not promptly find a gay porn mailing list to use as part of my scheme within 4 clicks, 4 clicks is pretty much all the effort I traditionally spend on recreational google searches to use as part of any scheme designed only to give me a cheap thrill. I guess people whose email addresses I do have can take solace in the fact that I am unable to find my own gay porn mailing list, in fact i’m not that great at finding gay porn full stop; my previous curiosity regarding gay porn in 720p was in fact not satisfied by a search of my own. I guess it’s not unreasonable to assume that my subconcious and latent homophobia have linked arms to create a barrier between me and the image of multiple young black thugs enjoying the other’s taut and masculine flesh while they take turns pounding each other in the sphincter - in HD.

This article contains exactly 420 words. I’d like to see you assholes do that.

SON OF WANG: Part 7

I was standing in the hospital hallway wide eyed and adjusting my pants when my vision faded to white and with it, my feelings of shock and urgency.

Hallucinations or daydreams have begun to kick in it would appear, but what am I seeing now? Is this the real life? Or is this just fantasy? I’m seeing white and I feel as though I’m on my back, the sky is layered with clouds and my head seems to be on fire - no wait, maybe It only feels like it’s on fire – upon feeling my head with my right hand; no, my head is not on fire.

Propping myself up with my right arm I didn’t see any robotic alien walkers or smoke trail residue or interior walls for that matter. I almost began to wonder where I was but the feeling of concrete chips stinging my buttocks reassured me I was nestled in the safe environs of a suburban parking lot frequented by the homeless and the sick; the sun was setting and there looked to be no vehicles and no people nearby.
Turning my head back I see the hospital with all doors and glass panes intact and began to wonder what it was I thought I saw and how the hell I got from in there to out here.

The obvious action to take would be to go back inside and see what went on and so I did do that; I did that like it was the right thing to do because doing that was the only thing I could think of doing and if I didn’t know how to do any different then it couldn’t possibly be wrong to do, right? Well in retrospect, it was the right thing to do.
Pushing open the door, the feelings of urgency reawakened when I saw a wide blood smear 4 feet from the door the changing shade of orange as my eyes darted up it’s length suggested it originating from somewhere down the hall. Hospital staff was nowhere to be seen and no patients either for that matter, which was odd, seeing as how I could easily walk behind the unattended counter and start making toll calls; luckily for them I resisted that impulse and decided to follow the blood smear down the hall.
Past rooms filled with covered beds and beeping grey boxes, the blood smear ended at a mess of red and orange droplets right outside my father’s room, where I’d fallen and couldn’t get back up, I took off my shirt and looked at the back of it; the long fingers of dried blood confirmed to me that I’d been dragged from this spot to where I regained consciousness in the parking lot, still, there was no medical staff in sight and I hadn’t seen any on the way over from the front door. I looked to the vending machine; the glass was shattered and all the sandwiches were gone. I smelled a confusing medley of smells coming from the room; a combination of blood and other fluids, alongside my curiosity and against my better judgement; I investigated.

I looked to the bed; it was empty. My father was gone.
I looked to the foot of the bed; motionless bodies of uniformed medical staff.
I looked closer; it appears that they all died with crushed skulls, broken spines and severe swelling of the torso.

From almost outside my field of vision, a man rushed me and pinned me to the wall. His eyes were wide as breath mints and when he talked his breath smelled like breath mints.

“HE KILLED THEM! HE KILLED THEM ALL!”
“What the fuck? Get off me you poorly dressed…
Hrmm… what’s a funny thing to call someone who smells like breath mints?
…Pine tree!”
“NO! NO! NO! YOU HAVE TO LISTEN!”
I struggled
“Let go of me.”
”HEY!”
“WHAT?”
“LISTEN!”

He pressed a gun into my meaty flank.

“I’m listening.”
He pulled the gun away
“You’re the boy; yes… You’re his boy; the boy with the fire hydrant in his pants yes. Do you know what he’s done?”
”Well yeah, I may have a fairly good idea; he ‘killed them, killed them all’?”
“He’s gone… Can’t you see? He’s out there and he- He’ll do… He’ll do again, he’ll do again what he did to them.”
Looking to the bodies on the ground, the man burst into tears.
“Alright man, pull yourself together; let me go and I’ll go find him”
“And… and then what?”
“I don’t know… It’s hard to think; I don’t know what I’ll do but I have to find him.”
“Will you m-make him stop?”
“I don’t know, but I’m his son; I might be the only one who can”
He releases me
“You’re right… You’re right.”
“Can you help me? What’s your name?”
“My name is Jack Jackson.”
“Ok Jack, let’s go.”

I begin walking away towards the entrance when Jack says something.

“NO!
I turn around and see Jack pointing his pistol towards his head.
… I’VE SEEN TOO MUCH.”

With a mighty bang, Jack was gone forever.

With great astonishment, I walked over to where his lifeless body lay and kneeled down beside him. I opened my mouth; I said only two words.

“Thanks Jack”

With that I looted his body, taking away with me his wallet, gun and box of breath mints.
With a gun in my hand and a mouth full of fresh breath, I walked out into the empty sunset streets.

Bringing star trek a little closer

Lectures are over for uni at the moment, so it’s that time of year again when I start doing work. Inspired from watching Iron Man the day it came out in NZ I decided to build my own voice powered bot.

I’m too lazy to write my own speech recognition engine, so I started using SAPI 5.3. But I’ve switched over to using the .NET 3.5 Speech library at the moment.

The hard part now is defining the formal grammar, as all it does now is check for “computer email” and opens up webmail for me. But given that dynamic grammars can hook directly into databases the possibilities are incredible.

Unfortunately I need to grab another 900MB SDK to quickly build these up. Otherwise I’d have to work with the w3c spec by hand. So I’ll leave it on hold for a bit until my XPS 1530 arrives (I don’t have 900MB of room left on my hdd…)

Also I need to think about how to map the resulting accept state into the list of actions to perform. Since currently I just know that I have an accept state, and the string, but what I really want to have is the list of states that I had to pass through to get there.

i.e it’s no good knowing that “computer fetch images from my documents”, what I want is something like:

computer -> fetch -> images -> from -> my documents
Not computer -> fetch -> images -> from -> my -> documents

as I’m too lazy to do a double parse.

That way I quickly build up some sort of structure for scripts, so that it can look for “computer fetch $1 from $2″ and just pass along the required variables.

Though since a week is a long time to wait I’ll write a speech to action program for unique speech strings on wednesday.

So to keep Mathew happy, since it can run an arbitary url you can in fact have “computer order ice cream” and it’ll work.

Purdy

(clicky 4 big)

This item is purchasable off/from a man halfway down dominion road in an interesting little shop just above Real Groovy on Auckland’s main shopping street (K’ Road Queen Street). He also sells nunchaku and various other interesting things. And drinks. Non-alcoholic ones. Upon the purchase of above pictured item I was admonished “you no use in public, you get in trouble. Use in private, ok”. Awesome.

Son of Wang: Part 6

PS. Black Mesa is a gungan minority.

Ok, here you go you sacks of mud which smell strangely like poo:

SON OF WANG: PART 6

I was woken up rather rudely, the thumping inside my head in perfect sync with the thump my wallet made as it was tossed onto my chest. My eyes peeked open to see the only man I know of who dares carry around samples of his own urine;

“Vending machines” he said,
wearily, I replied; “did that nurse finally agree to pork with you? How long was I out for – a million years?”
“I was hungry you illegitimate bastard child”
“I wasn’t aware you could eat condoms”
“Well you know what you pathetic sack of miniature flying fucks? I’m not the one here lying on a hospital floor wearing a gigantic boner ripping through the front side of his pants as though he were surrendering to American troops.”

I lowered my head to see and unsuprisingly, it was true. I tucked my flagpole back into what was left of my pants, sighed and welcomed myself back to reality.

“By the way, aliens are invading.”

I forced a wry expression onto my face and slid my wallet onto the floor beside me. As I arched myself forward I began to hear a distant rumbling. With little warning, the ground jolted violently, skipping my wallet across the floor to in front of a vending machine which appeared to be selling moist towelettes. Another jolt saw that the machine fell over onto my wallet. A third jolt saw that vending machine exploded in a shower of coins, wallet parts and lemon freshness. To my abject horror; an ominous voice came boomed from outside;

“DESCENDENTS OF WANGLORR! REVEAL YOURSELVES!”

Realising that I wasn’t lied to regarding aliens, I frightfully looked down the hallway in desperation and saw my idiot of a father marching towards the front door carrying a megaphone, I became filled with dread as he stopped metres in front of the door and raised it to his mouth;

“NOT BY THE HAIRS OF MY CHINY-CHIN-CHIN!”

For a tightly spaced sequence of moments silence washed over the entire hospital. Nobody made a move, fearful for their lives – except of course for my father, who stood legs apart, hands resting on his hips and staring down the door with an almost feral determination. He remained still even as the rest of the hospital cowered at the mechanical click that broke the afforementioned silence. The voice boomed again;

“GOODBYE!”

An explosion permeated the front wall of the hospital, introducing a large projectile heading straight for my father; but suddenly the most amazing thing happened – the absolute most amazing thing I ever saw encased in a split second but drenched in a sticky grandeur that surpassed even the greatest action movie that would ever be imagined by anyone (Terminator 2: Judgement Day) – my father’s battering babymaker exploded in size, like the world’s worst airbag, wielding the tree-sized cucumber like a bat, he intercepted the projectile with a mighty punt, propelling it back out and upward towards a place near the middle of eternity.

He ran towards the hole in the wall and began to yell;

“THIS IS MY GUN! IT’S FOR FIGHTING AND FOR FUN!”

This post is useful.

Look at this… Expect it… Cherish it… Take it into the toilet and wipe with it…

It’s…

SON OF WANG: Part 5

I wouldn’t claim to be illiterate, mute, or terminally handicapped unless it were a situation that could result in free parking; but where are the words? Where are the words right now for this specific situation? Nothing to say, nothing to think on, nothing to write home about; likely because the person reading it at home would be my mother who has probably already heard whatever it is I had to say.

But let’s look on the bright side, I’m a circus freak being mind-controlled by hypnotic messages sent to me by the ghost of my dead grandfather who is currently inhabiting my pork-chop-prodder by diabolical means. From here one could think that things couldn’t possibly get any worse; no way in hell, nowhere from here but upwards, bring on the good times because the next thing to happen to me will surely be a good one.

So naturally, my nose starts bleeding.

Down over my upper lip, curving and pooling at the front of my mouth.

“I can’t believe it!” I said, spitting nose blood all over the room like some sort of violent arterial spray.
“Yeah son, me either… I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER!”

I see that sometime during my lengthy and blank musing, my father had gotten up and bought a sandwich from a vending machine in the hallway.

“How can you eat? Damn it, you really are a douchetard!” I accused, spraying nose blood ALL OVER THE ROOM like a skunk trying to put out a fire.

My father threw his now blood-soaked sandwich out the open window, looked at me and began to speak;

“Well what do you want me do? Let me save you the trouble of asking; there’s absolutely nothing I can do for you. And you also owe me $3.50”
“Well if you can’t help me, then tell me someone who can!”
“Good motherfucking luck finding an exorcist who specialises in genital possession. The sandwich was what I was referring to earlier, you owe me $3.50 for another sandwich.”
“Well, what then? I can’t go on like this forever. My pelvic brick isn’t normal. It should be normal. I should be normal!”
“Well firstly, the $3.50. Then my suggestion would be to carry on, carry on like nothing really matters.”
“It’s too late, my time has come, sends shivers down my spine, body aching all the time.” What the fuck just happened?

I realised what was going on.

“Fuck you dad.”
“Damn it! We were just getting to the good part!”
“Sure, I’ll go ahead sing the next bit; ‘goodbye everybody, I have to go. Leave you all behind and face the truth.’”

At this stage, I blood-drippingly left the room while my father was in the middle of singing “mama”.

“HEY! WHAT ABOUT THAT $3.50?”

Distracted, I slipped on a drop of my own nose blood and knocked my head on the polished floor. For the next hour, I was without consciousness.

In the darkness of my mind, I heard a voice.

< Grandson! >
< Huh? Hey, whoa… What’s up with my voice? >
< We’re below consciousness you shit! You don’t speak with your mouth right now. >
< Oh, that’s just bloody great. While I’m here, let me get a few things straight, you’re really my grandpa? >
< Yes >
< And you’re really haunting my peener? >
< Yes >
< So right now I’m having a conversation with my crotch monster? >
< Damn it boy…> Without seeing it, I can tell he did a face-plant… As well as a ghost could, at least.

Slowly, images began to fade into view. I saw a person; crossed between Ron Jeremy and Condolezza Rice. A man, tall, slim and neatly dressed in a white tuxedo… Sure was ugly though.

< Well? Aren’t you happy to see you grandpa? >
< I’d rather not. That would imply that I prefer this to seeing the real world with my physical eyes. But let’s chat anyway. Why are we here? No, let’s start from the beginning… What’s the deal with you? >
< Me? Well… My name is Shake-zula, the mic ruler, the old schooler- >
< Ok, enough! For fucks sake, are all the men in our family like this? >
< Only the good looking ones. >
< You’re hideous. >
< … Shut up.>

So far, things have been shaping up for a pretty fucking amazing inside-mind experience. In fact, the only way it could get better is if I died.

< Well, goodbye for now boy. We’ll speak again soon.>

What her meant by that is that unfortunately I hadn’t died. So I woke up.

Son of Wang: Part 4.

See, I promised it would be done. And you know what? I’M STILL NOT FINISHED. I’m gonna spend some extra time on the next installment; I won’t quit until it is truly epic. And if you end up not liking it, that means you’re a nazi. Please, think of the Jews.

The last thing I remembered saying was “tell me”, my mind drew a blank right then and I was agape standing by a stack of bedpans with my endangered sperm whale beached between my legs.

If there was ever a time when I needed a really funny joke to tell, it was now. The entire world was dilated in those few moments over which it finally hit me; I had just wangslapped my own father. And when I say the world became dilated, i’m not kidding; I heard some scummy bastard in the drama class across town say “now is the winter of our discontent”, I could hear the nurse in the hospital parking lot talking about “that broken wang idiot”, I could smell the swamp near the edge of- oh wait, dad farted.

Along with breaking the smell barrier, he was first to break the silence;

“So tell me, why does your wang smell like garlic?”
“Well you see; I picked up this vampire hooker on the way over and we- IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER! Something is happening, this ‘embiggening’, what else does it do? Aside from inflating my blimp.”
“Well, it didn’t do much else to me when I went through it, but I know of some things that happened to others, for instance; your grandfather grew a horn lodged up his butt.”
“Well, fucking tell me already.”
“Well sure, but first I want hear about this vampire hooker you were talking about.”

At this I wangslapped him again- this time on purpose.

“Well fine then.” My father said, rubbing his cheek.
“I have impulses. Just like that, except involuntary. So please stop being a cockbagging jerkwad and tell me why I’m hearing voices telling me to wear loose pants and crush garlic.”
“Holy merciful crap… You’re kidding…”
“What?”
“Your granddad is the catalyst to your embiggening.”
“What?”
“Your wang is possessed.”
“WHAT?!?”
“Your grandfather, my father, he used to cook for us when he and your grandma, my mother, were still alive. He cooked with garlic and said it was so because he liked to crush it.”
“Ok, so my granddad has haunted my wang… That’s insane… Fuck you.”
“Well, what in the hell am I supposed to say to explain you crushing garlic with your beef log? Can’t you consider that there is remotely a chance that what I’m saying is true? And besides…”

He looked towards my crotch.

“… WHAT’S UP OLD DEAD DAD? HOW’S YOUR NEW HOME? I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE INTO TEENAGE COCK!”

< Wangslap>

The voice again; and before I knew it, my bat hit a foul.

“I see….”

< NOW IS THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!>

Did I do that?

Okay, jerks. Listen up, Son of Wang part 4 is coming so don’t stop reading here. I’m sure you’ve all noticed the lack of new content lately and that’s probably caused by everyone being big blubbering vaginal discharges.

So in the interests of creating updates that aren’t angstfests or 2-line gaywadding; take a preliminary look at this;

SON OF WANG: PART 4 [unfinished]

If there was ever a time when I needed a really funny joke to tell, it was now. The entire world was dilated in those few moments over which it finally hit me; I had just wangslapped my own father. And when I say the world became dilated, i’m not kidding; I heard some scummy bastard in the drama class across town say “now is the winter of our discontent”, I could hear the nurse in the hospital parking lot talking about “that broken wang idiot”, I could smell the swamp near the edge of- oh wait, dad farted.

Along with breaking the smell barrier, he was first to break the silence;

“So tell me, why does your wang smell like garlic?”
“Well you see; I picked up this vampire hooker on the way over and we- IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER!’

The previous SON OF WANG story can be found here: no, it’s here

Others can be found using that search field in the corner.

SON OF WANG: Part 3

Ever had one of those moments where you were experiencing a nightmare and suddenly you realize that you are; since none of the shit you were experiencing seemed remotely possible, but when you shut your virtual eyes and try to will yourself awake and back to reality; nothing happens, then you think to yourself “oh great, now I have to sit through this crap”? Now, how about if what you were seeing and feeling was entirely quite possible, but still sucked and you keep trying to will yourself back to reality, unsure if it was going to work but praying to god that it would?

That’s me; at the moment, in the moment, behind the moment. So sickly contemplating the possibility of what was rolled out onto my desk, a bacon bat the size of a 4D Mag-lite®. First reaction was panic, but eventually thoughts drifted towards < lucky I don’t wear underpants to bed> which was odd; it’s not completely like me to make light of a dire situation.

I had to see my father, I absolutely had to see him and about this “embiggening” that was wreaking it’s havoc on me. I walked over to the closet to get dressed; as I reached for some underpants, a voice shrieked in my head screaming < no UNDERPANTS> and autonomously, I obeyed. As I reached for a pair of jeans, the voice returned to me and yelled < loose PANTS> and autonomously, I obeyed; reaching instead for the baggiest pair in sight.
After getting dressed, I began to head downstairs; brushing my meat-lance as I awkwardly descended them, then the voice again; < walk sideways> and autonomously, I obeyed and the walking became so much more comfortable; no longer destroying my shame with friction.
I walked past the kitchen, but before I could reach the shoe rack by the front door, the voice sprang up; < crush garlic> and autonomously, I went into the kitchen and saw a clove of garlic on a chopping board, I pulled out my mushroom stand and smashed the garlic with a mighty hammer blow, looking down at my garlic smeared snakey stick; I began to fear the worst about where my mind was headed,

“Son? You up?”
Mother! She can’t see this!
< run>

I obeyed the voice; this time of my own free will. It had chosen what seemed to be the best course of action to get me out of the mess it had gotten me in to. What a merciful bastard; whatever it was.

The hospital was the same as last I saw, the same reception staff, the same slidey floors and the same insane nurse; making my father’s life hell. My father saw me as I walked in, he also saw the paper lunch bag I picked up on the way over;

“Hey boy, you got some bacon in there? I have a hankering for some pork.”
Déjà vu
“WE ARE NOT GOING TO PORK.”
More déjà vu

A wry grin busted out over my face uncongenially, the voice… It said < wangslap> and autonomously I dropped my pants and gave my father a lashing with my manly musket. My father and I looked at each other in stern disbelief; the nurse walked into the room and spying me with my wang out and my father with a bruise on his cheek, immediately walked out again, but our gazes didn’t shift. I opened my mouth as if to speak;

“So father, tell me…”

SON OF WANG: Part 2

To face your fear and find that there is indeed much to be afraid of; that is the only true defeat a man can know. It is akin to surrendering to your enemy in the hope of amnesty, but then watching as they tie up your family, urinate on their faces and set them on fire. And as they reach the point in their agony where they gracefully welcome death as a sweet release from their mortal pain, the flames are abruptly put out by a catapault; firing loads of jello. Wobbling, sweet jello. Then, as soon as you begin crying and a tear hits the floor, a big black guy named Ben shoves a hand grenade in your mouth and smiles like a downs syndrome child.

Now, what was the point of that entire spiel? Well, some might call it foreshadowing. Far be it for me to tell a story like I’m lecturing English; but I am. So listen and you might learn something.

I wasted no time in getting away from that room, away from my father and his nonsensical premonitions. Repeatedly in my mind, over and over again, disbelief throbbed at the tip of my thought spectrum. That same nurse from before walked past me in the hallway wielding a chainsaw, but I couldn’t think about what hilarity she was producing in her own time as I was dealing with a bombshell, my adoptive father is my biological father.

I sat in that seat outside the hospital for what seemed like hours, thinking about all the signs that pointed towards this. I never wanted to be like him, when he told me I was adopted I was relieved; what possibility that I would become like my father was erased. But there was one time when I was 6 years old that “not possible” changed to “remotely possible”; it was outside our old house with my friend “Octavio Octavio” yes, his surname is the same as his given name, Mexicans are weird. Well anyway, we were playing witches and I had a broom between my legs, then Octavio starting being a jerkwad,

“I cast a spell that makes your ding dong disappear”

I don’t know why that was so shocking, but the thought of losing my teeny peeny broke something in my brain, I saw in tunnel vision and I could no longer control myself, I grasped the broomstick, one leg still either side of the shaft and began to beat Octavio with it, the bruises that appeared on him urged me on more, the suggestion that my yoghurt cannon be whisked away was punishable by rage. My blows got steadily harder and his body grew steadily flaccid. I swung my hips to wind up a finishing blow, when I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder. He looked admirably at what I had done and said;

“That’ll do boy, that’ll do.”

That night, my father told me a story about when he beat up an elderly woman in the park using his enormous pink submarine. After that, I stayed in my room for 3 days straight, scared of what I could be capable of.

That was the very first suggestion that he and I might be joined by nature. “Not possible” became “remotely possible”, but even then, that was a small step up; it’s severity paled in comparison to what happened today; when “remotely possible” became “absolute certainty”, to have such a wang… It’s power would corrupt me… I couldn’t let it happen to me, “the embiggening” can’t happen. And I could never have a biological son of my own.

When my mother arrived to pick me up, the rain was beginning to die down. I threw the umbrella into the back seat and slumped into the passenger side, not bothering to fasten my seat belt,

“Son? You ok?”
“I’m fine, mother.”
“How about fastening your seat-“
“THAT WHACK-JOB IS MY REAL FATHER!”

Normally my thoughts leak out in the way of Freudian slips; so a blatant outburst like that was uncomfortable for all parties involved and hence, no-one said a word throughout the ride home and I never ended up fastening my seat belt.

I went straight to my room and sat on my bed; my mother appeared at the door brandishing a watermelon. At least one and a half times the size of my head,

“It’s true you know. Hard to believe, don’t you think? You and him; father and son.”
“I’m trying to get my around this; so if I’m 18 and he’s 30… He was only 12 years old when I was born?”
“RAAARGH!”

With that, my mother threw the watermelon at me and ran back downstairs, still screaming. To see the truth in prophecy, I stood up and flopped out my flogging wand; I placed it on my desk, thighs firmly pressed against the edge, and drew a line with a pen where the lengthiness terminated. I did the same before I went to bed that night; at that point I didn’t notice a difference.

When I awoke the next day, I leapt out of bed and cringed; it felt like I’d been slapped on the thigh. Tiredly, I flopped my porky pickle out onto my desk, looked down, and stared in disbelief.