November 20th, 2010

#2409: You see, THIS is why I don't room with Batman.

It's really a good thing I set the VCR to record Smallville, because I just finished sleeping for about 11 hours.

(Actually, I just got back from McDonald's for a post-coma hamburger, but you get the idea.)

Around 8:30 I woke up, then slipped into a twilight state without noticing it; and in this somnolent haze I dreamed there was a young rodent--I think it was a skunk pup--on my bed. Hollering in shock, I teleported to the door, and after fumbling the light on I stood there and stared at the bed with my mouth hanging open in mute incomprehension: what was that? Was it real? I think it was a dream.

Then I sat on the bed and thought about it some more, trying to decide if I was now irretrievably awake; finally I decided I was too tired to think about this and went back to sleep.

So around 2-ish I began having a complicated dream that I shared an apartment in Gotham City with Batman. No, I wasn't Robin; I was just Batman's roommate. This was shortly after his (our?) college days, you see, and he was still getting used to having the entirety of the Wayne fortune under his control; he had kept leasing the apartment but had moved to Wayne Manor.

Batman was played by Robert Downey Jr. For some reason I knew he was Batman.

After a bunch of unrelated stuff, I came home from somewhere to find a group of Mexican gang members in the apartment, waiting for Batman, who wasn't home. I drew my magic Hollywood pistol which never required reloading and shot them all, but they didn't die and pulled out their own guns. "Crap!" I thought. "They're vampires!" I sprinted for and dove into the armor-lined laundry room, and listened to the bullets ricochet off the steel plating, until their leader checked to see if I was alive. Naturally my magic gun was now out of bullets, so I couldn't just shoot him; and anyway he was a vampire.

His thugs rapidly captured me, and he was showing me a razor knife and saying, "When they find your body, this is going to be embedded in it." He started making a cut, at which point I realized I didn't have to put up with this, turned my head away, and said, "No! I refuse this!"

...and woke up.

Damn it, Batman! Don't be out when the gang of Mexican vampires shows up to kill you! That's at least as bad as leaving an empty roll of toilet paper in the dispenser!

* * *

On the plus side, I think he started paying all the rent after he got super-rich.

#2410: Japanese tentacle manga is REALLY OLD

Pixy brought this up, talking about Mad Men and an historic piece of Japanese art called Tako to Ama. Warning: that link is NSFW.

I posted the following comment at Pixy's place:
So you're telling me that tentacle hentai goes back to the freaking ninteenth century?

Why doesn't that surprise me?
Hokusai--the creator also sometimes thought of as Japan's first manga artist. So as you can see, it's been like this since before the Meiji Restoration, and there's nothing we can do about it.

#2411: Argh.

So I was playing WoW a bit this morning, and noticed that there's a slider in the sound control panel for "sound quality". It was set about halfway. Turning it all the way up got rid of the ringing in the audio.


...well, I'm not taking the Creative Labs card back to re-exchange it for the Rocketfish card. I just wish Blizzard would tell us about these modifications when they make them. Argh etc.

#2412: God, it must be awful to have such a small penis.

I decided on Taco Bell for dinner. There is very little pre-prepared food (pot pies or whatev) in the house, because I've been putting off shopping for too long; also neither Mom nor I are capable of cooking anything edible from the raw materials we do have on hand. She's still got the back pain, and I'm still sick.

Anyway, I had about $3, so I hit Mom's ATM for cash for food; and as I drove down Main Street to get to it I drove past these two crotch rocket douchebags. Their bikes were parked at the curb, running, and one of them kept revving his engine with brief bursts of full throttle: BLAAA! BLAAA! BLAAAAA!

First off--when is someone going to break down and tell the motorcycle industry about the miracle which is the automatic choke? I mean, a joke's a joke and all, but this is starting to get ridiculous. It's gone beyond the funny part into the painful area where you realize, Oh, God, this guy is utterly clueless, and you're trying to decide whether or not you should tell him you've been pulling his leg all along, because he is not getting it, and you're starting to feel a little guilty for pulling a prank on such a gullible person.

An automatic choke would make all that idling and revving and associated douchebaggery completely unnecessary. (Oh, wait, I get it: motorcycle sales would plummet.) The same guys who denigrate the Harley guys because Harleys are built using 1950s technology themselves can't be bothered with something as technologically advanced as an automatic choke. (Yes, I am using the ironic mode there.)

Motorcycle industry: "What? You mean, there's a way to actuate the choke without a thumb lever?" *sigh*

Second--that revving bit does nothing but make excessive noise. It doesn't do anything to speed the warming of the engine. Look: an unloaded engine uses a miniscule amount of fuel at idle; it uses a slightly larger miniscule amount of fuel with the throttle open. Because the engine is unloaded, you don't have to open the throttle very far to make the engine race; and because it takes so little extra fuel to make tne engine run faster, it's not going to warm up any quicker than if you just let the engine idle quietly.

"I gotta keep my plugs clear, man!" ...if your spark plugs are fouling at idle, your goddamned motorcycle needs a tune up. Or else it's not the miracle of technology you think it is. Either way, it sucks, and I'm not impressed. I get my money and circle the block and head off, forgetting the crotch rocket retards. I get to the light at Steger Road; lo and behold, the crotch rocket morons pull up behind me, still revving their engines at each other and yelling their conversation loud enough that I can almost understand it from insde my closed vehicle.

Light turns green, off I go. One of them rides on the yellow line, close to my rear bumper, to show me he's behind me and really unhappy that I'm not capable of going faster than the car in front of me.

Jeeze, I'm sorry. It's a Jeep, not a Ferrari. Besides, that whole "phase through solid matter" thing has, so far, eluded me. I promise I'll work on it.

Anyway, so a gap opens up in the right lane, so idiot stick revs up his engine and pulls up alongside me, a bit ahead...and then blips his throttle some two or three times, hard enough to make the front wheel almost leave pavement; then he looks over at me, as if to say, "What're you gonna do about it?" before allowing himself to drop back again.

To say that I was not impressed is understating the situation. I rolled my eyes. What a douche.

Yes I'm not driving as fast as I could be. Yes your motorcycle can accelerate faster than my Jeep can. Yes I know you're unhappy about this.

No I don't give a rat's ass.

Yes you've demonstrated to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you have a painfully tiny penis. The one bright spot in all this is that you managed to do so without actually dropping your pants. Thanks for that.

I hope your motorcycle idiocy doesn't get you killed.