I'd be interested in feedback on my story, because I'm not sure how I feel about it myself.

Of course, I'll adhere to the reach-around-system of providing feedback.

At 11/5/09 12:19 PM, EternitySpent wrote: What can you do. Week 9:

Green Bay Packers > Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

No idea how I completely missed that game.

At 11/3/09 07:01 PM, Buddhist wrote: In other news...my fantasy teams are still sucking. NG League team moved to 4-4 on the year

My starting TE is now Bo Scaife.... and I'm so desperate for anyone to do anything, I'm using Mike Bell and Mike Crabtree at the flex position. Additionally, McGahee has now officially had more splinters in his ass - than touches/rushing yards over the last 3 weeks, with astounding fantasy production numbers of:
2 rushes for -1 yard, 1 catch for 4 yards. (0.3 fantasy points)
7 rushes for 3 yards. (0.3 fantasy points) *BIG WEEK FOR HIM!
1 rush for -2 yards, 1 catch for 4 yards. (0.2 fantasy points)

That's an average of you guessed it, 0 rushing yards, over the last 3 games.

So there is sucking... then there is SUCKING.

What can you do. Week 9:
Atlanta Falcons > Washington Redskins
Arizona Cardinals > Chicago Bears
Baltimore Ravens > Cincinnati Bengals
Indianapolis Colts > Houston Texans
New England Patriots > Miami Dolphins
Jacksonville Jaguars > Kansas City Chiefs; would've taken KC if they had Johnson
Seattle Seahawks > Detroit Lions
San Diego Chargers > New York Giants; all or nothing on the upsets this week.
Carolina Panthers > New Orleans Saints; 2 upsets in a row, undefeated, I don't believe and they Saints can be run on.
Tennessee Titans > San Francisco 49ers; Make it 3. C'mon BO SCAIFE LOL.
Dallas Cowboys > Philadelphia Eagles; 4. Romo-Austin is this years hot couple in Dallas and the Eagles are a Jekyll and Hyde team
Pittsburgh Steelers > Denver Broncos; Have to go with the favourite here, but I had a good run.

14. Toronto 13 7
15. Carolina 14 7

THATS RIGHT. We passed someone in the standings.

Tied for 29th, beats 30th.

At 11/3/09 04:13 AM, Coop83 wrote: Actually, you're wrong. It was Smoltz, Glavine and Steve Avery. Greg Maddux didn't join the Braves until 1993.

Yeah they mentioned that later, but that pertains only to the '92 team, where the Braves only used those 3 guys throughout the entire playoffs. Where as I was more directly referring to their early 90s teams in general, including the 95/96 teams that like spotted Denny Neagle a start in the NLDS, but for the most part just rolled the 3 big guns.

Also what bothered me most about the comment didn't actually have anything to do with that anyway. It was more that this announcer, supposedly an expert to inform us about the game, couldn't even name one of the Braves starters of the 90s; a pitching staff that may have been one of the best OF ALL TIME, certainly the most iconic of my generation.

Additionally, I seem to recall someone predicting the Yankees to take it in 6, just saying. Though I hope I'm wrong, the Phillies are kind of growing on me - I don't know if it's the underdog effect, or if I just dislike the Yanks that much or what, but Pettite on short rest - who knows how it will go.

Also, Chase Utley. Reggie who?

I didn't find the comedown to be that bad: except its a really uncomfortable feeling to be really tired/worn out and sort of I guess 'lethargic' is the best word, but at the same time be unable to sleep - I'm an insomniac by nature though, so that wasn't anything new. Also the dehydration is comparable to an alcohol hangover, maybe worse.

Generally I could sum it up as feeling bodily functions: hunger, thirst, a rumble in my stomach like I had to shit, exhaustion, sexual arousal, etc. - but had no real drive or desire to satiate any of these wants. Although since I've only experimented with the stuff a couple of times, I have no idea as to the potency of what I took, having little to compare it to, maybe I was just lucky because I have heard of people coming down feeling extremely anxious and paranoid.

At 11/2/09 10:20 PM, MultiCanimefan wrote: You know what, Burnett, now that you've pitched ike it, go play golf until Spring.

It's not Burnett's fault, it's Girardi's for continuously rolling his starters on short rest, eventually it's going to backfire. Particularly when you are up 3-1 in the series.

Speaking of which, some more announcer douchebaggery tonight. The incident that stood out this time was when they were commenting on how the Yankees have only utilized 3 starters this post-season, and they give the tidbit of information that the Atlanta Braves of the 90's were the last team to only use 3 starters in the playoffs. The colour commentator was like: "I don't know who those guys were, but they didn't win..."

I was just like... are you fucking serious?

Maddux. Smoltz. Glavine.

I guess It's understandable that he didn't know what he was talking about, it's not like they're potential hall of famers or anything. Learn something about the fucking game before you condescendingly expound your faggotry on national... international television.

Also, a big O-M-G directed at the Phillies bullpen. If they end up blowing this game...

I love how in last nights game the announcers just decided to randomly talk shit about the Blue Jays. When someone from Toronto wrote in about how they'd like to see Halladay and the Jays in the world series next year, the announcers just scoffed and actually called it impossible. 2 years ago you could have made a similar statement about the Rays and you would have been proven dead wrong. Not that I disagree - I know the Jays are terrible and as long as they have that douchebag Riccardi calling the shots they will continue to be, but it is rather unprofessional to make unfounded subjective projections about future seasons, when this one isn't even over yet. This is just one example that stood out in my mind since it involved my home city, but in general I really have found the quality of announcing really poor throughout the post-season and particularly hate the guys calling the world series. Mute button, here I come.

At 11/2/09 07:02 PM, Timmy wrote: Most Liberal Arts Majors in general just prove that their students can learn, read, write, etc.

^ This.

I'm an English major and in general Philosophy is not that different, you are just examining abstract ideas in our world as opposed to examining abstract ideas in a fictional landscape of literature.

More or less it's just to get the B.A, then you can continue onto post-grad studies and get a position in teaching, academics/scholarly writing, or like human resource, managerial, cushy government type jobs - since you have proven yourself to be a knowledgeable individual. That's the theory at least.

Also, if you like philosophy, you should study philosophy. I remember my English director saying: "You shouldn't study something just because it will lead you to employment, or in the case of English majors to unemployment."

At 10/28/09 08:10 PM, Valjylmyr wrote: Also... weird as it may sound... I think Aphrodite is hawt. Anyone else agree?

No doubt, the whole point of Aphrodite is to look mad bonable; I mean really, in like 9/10 of the myths she is present in, somebody ends up fucking her... or wanting/trying to fuck her.

Holy fuck highdeas is awesome!

Actually, I've never had a big problem with smell. Just pick up one of those air fresheners that shoot out periodically and hit a bong/vap/pipe; Save the joints and skunk for when you're outside, or when smell is not an issue.

At 11/1/09 11:59 PM, EternitySpent wrote: Posted my story.

Yeah. That's how I do.

The Clock-Tower. (2/2)

"Oh thank you. My poor Raymond. He's not like us. He's not hardened by the world. He is so sweet... so gentle... He was supposed to be home hours ago." Tears formed beneath the eyelids of the distraught mother. She continued to babble, driving herself further into a desperate frenzy.

"He studies history you see. He can't get enough of the old world. Any artifacts he can get his hands on, he covets like the holy grail. You don't think..." the woman abruptly trailed off.

She didn't have to finish the thought, Dante was ahead of her. If this boy, Raymond, had ventured to the surface, as his mother suspected her tears were certainly not unfounded. Their conversation was not permitted to continue however, as it was adamantly interrupted, by a high pitched shriek that descended sharply upon their ears.

"NO! ---- RAYMOND!" The woman cried out fearfully.

She scurried past Dante, out the door and flooded onto the street. Dante followed promptly in hot pursuit. The source of the scream became immediately evident, in the distance Dante could vividly make out the rough outline of a body, hanging from a makeshift scaffold in the town square. The woman was past consolation now, as she weeped openly. It was hard to imagine how she managed to propel herself forward so quickly in a state of such intense grief. They reached the crowd that had gathered around the lifeless carcass. One leg had been completely severed from the torso. The other leg mangled, scarcely covered by shredded flesh. Blood dripped down constantly, accumulating in a shallow pool, before running through the cracks of the stone-block, paved street. The arms were tied together in front of the body, with what appeared to be a barbed-wire of sorts. The torso showed signs of partial dismemberment, but the sight-line was too obstructed by blood and gore to tell for certain. The woman gasped and put her hand over her mouth as she looked into the face and identified the unnamed corpse as Roscoe, the towns local priest. The old man's eyes were closed, lips pursed. At least he had not resisted and had likely given himself over to faith and surrendered his mortal life without incident. The image was gruesome and haunting, no matter how many times you lay eyes upon a dead body, it is never a welcomed sight. Dante needed to make sure that poor Raymond would not be handed a similar fate.

After spending a few hours examining Raymond's room, desperate for any clue leading towards his whereabouts. Among the knick-knacks and clutter Raymond had scattered about, Dante found a miniature likeness of his favourite clock tower. It was just a hunch, but f he would find him anywhere, that is where it would be. Dante set out once again for the surface, this time with a particular ambition in mind.

After hurrying his way along the boardwalk and swiftly utilizing the elaborate system of gears and pulleys which formed a mechanized lift: the only method of traveling from the world beneath to the world above; Dante again stood on the surface of the planet that was his home, covered ubiquitously by the cloak of night. Cautiously he surveyed his surroundings, doing his best to penetrate the darkness with his sight. He knew the route to the clock tower intrinsically, as it was one he took quite often. After making his way in great haste, Dante finally reached the base of the tower and then stopped immediately. Ten feet above him a rope was suspended in mid-air, hanging looped over a peculiar out-jetting ledge. Dante's skin crawled. Was he too late? Dante again strained his senses, asking more out of his body than he ever had before. Before too long a crackle could be heard faintly coming from inside the tower. Dante forced his way through a gap between two elderly, rotting boards and then quickly raced up a stairwell, before reaching a landing, his path now illuminated by torchlight. Before him lay a youth, no older than 15 or 16 years. Above him sat a man, draped from head to toe in red robes, with religious symbols littered all over his person. There was no doubt in Dante's mind that he had finally found Dae, caught up to the legend, in the flesh.

The robed one, did not panic or make a rash move. He calmly sat still, composed, but intense. So very intense. From his side he drew two long blades, sharp as razors, with extravagant handles of finely crafted silver and gold. Hilt studded with innumerable jewels of varying sizes, shapes, and colours. Dae stood up, brandishing his weapons before him, an attempt at intimidation. Dante approved of the classic armaments. This was surely a man of quite exquisite tastes and certainly a scholar of the 'old world' - not unlike himself, or the young one that lay between them, separating them with a barrier of innocence; two tainted counterparts on either side.

Dante was unarmed, save a broken piece of wood off the tower's base. A struggle ensued between the two immense men. Dante fended off Dae's violent advances with a ferocious battle-hungry fervor. The plank splintering with every vehement strike it absorbed. Soon it would no longer hold as a viable defense. Strike after strike, Dae pummeled Dante, tactically breaking his pathetic plank of wood to pieces. The vibrating shock of each blow, sent Dante whirling further back, as his hands began to burn and sting with the sheer force of Dae's arm. Desperation overcame Dante, he charged barbarously forward, unrelenting in his fury. Dae plunged his aciculate prosthetic deep into the cavern of Dante's bowel. Dante - unphased, staggered forward, clutching his adversaries sleeves, tighter than a hyena grips the neck of his lifeless prey between his jaws, preparing to feed. Through the stained glass window that sat just to the right of the stairwell, a work of art that was surely the product of many hours of loving labour, Dante propelled their two immense bulks. They struggled for position in mid air. The wind serenaded them as they fluttered downward, shards of glass raining down like multi-coloured precipitation. Still the combatants battled, until they both plummeted into the hard, pitiless ground. Through shear luck alone, Dante narrowly managed to avoid being gored in the struggle. Dae was not as fortunate and lay lifeless, impaled by his own munition. Though Dae was able to stand, on the strength of resolve and unbreakable will alone, the wound he had procured, would surely prove fatal.

Dante groaned, he was not long left for this world. The bells of the clock-tower chimed, sending an echo radiating off into the distance. Five distinct rings. It was five in the morning, still too early for sunrise. Dante gasped for air. Tick. Tock. Dante clutched at his chest, blood draining through his fingertips. He gasped his last breath at the base of his beloved clock-tower. It was all over for Dante, he could feel life, reality, slipping away from him. The ancient hands of the clock-tower marked the time of Dante's death with graceful indifference. This was but one chapter in a greater tale. Tick...Tock.

BLEH. I really have to get writing earlier in the month, so I'm not scrambling to finish these stories like 5 minutes before the deadline.

Approximately 2445 words
Genre: I started with the intention of Steampunk, but I'm thinking it turned out to be more Clockpunk in the end.
Once again I'm walking the line of the generic restraints, but I think it counts as horror. I mean post-apocalyptic world + a serial killer (even if he happens to be politically motivated)

----------------------------------------
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The Clock-Tower. (1/2)

Tick. Tock. The ancient hands of the clock-tower marked the passage of time meticulously, but with utter indifference. No minute, nor second went unrecognized by its grandiose faces. Of all the relics that remained standing from the 'old world', Dante favoured the clock-tower above all others. Standing there, basking in the mighty shadow it sent cascading over the earth, Dante couldn't help but feel a sense of transcendence. By mere association to this opulent structure, he reached beyond the limits of time and space - linking himself to a greater story, one that included everyone who had lain eyes on this tower and everything that was still to transpire before it. All of this documented well, by another tick of the clock.

There was a brisk chill in the air, the early morning dew was preparing for its great reveal, with the first appearance of morning light. What tragedy it was that no one would ever bear witness to the wet dew in daylight's magnificent glory. Often Dante fantasized of one day being able to watch the sun rise, to actually see the sun, the orb coveted above all else in the sky. It was not to be this time however, for it was imperative he set off; once again to descend beneath the Earth. Dante pulled the lever, sending the mechanism into action. Gears began grinding and with a loud churning squeal, the chain sprung into motion and Dante was propelled downward.

"The descent to hell, could hardly be this grim." Dante muttered to himself.

The world that once existed on the surface, the 'old world' as it was called now, faded from Dante's perceptions as he was dragged further below the Earth's crust into the artificial world of man; a mimetic representation of what life was supposed to be, what life used to be. When a culture is devoid of art, justice, and the pursuit of happiness, all that can remain is bloodshed. Peace can never seem to outlast its utility. In order to rebuild a society from broken ruins and the brink of destruction, peace is necessitous for survival. But once feelings of comfort and familiarity of daily life begin once again to sink into societies collective conscious - war may come again. It has been asserted that humans are adaptive creatures and given ample time, can adapt to even the bleakest of situations and circumstance. This is detrimental to the upholding of peace. The families of the innocent, who have fallen in this latest conflict, can certainly attest to this.

The lift at last reached a full stop. The chain clanked and chimed as it worked its way to a natural resting place and the broad platform locked into position, the plank falling to rest on the ground. Dante nonchalantly stepped off the lift onto the boardwalk. Modern technology, such as it is, has its ways of counteracting reminiscence of history with great ease. Dante was again alert of his present. After only traveling along the boardwalk for a mere handful of strides, his motion was halted, current events had once again thrust themselves into the forefront of existence.

Another one. "A-fucking-'nother one."

Dante gazed in disappointment at the red cross, sloshed heedlessly across the wall binding the old half of the city to the new. Graffiti with a powerful message. This simple symbol: physically nothing more than two intersecting lines, was symbolically so much more. This was the people giving their support to the liberation movement and more importantly support for Dae, their champion. He is their Spartacus, or more accurately their Robespierre. One man with the power to move thousands. This cross, was his authority. The cross' meaning was easy to decipher. The blood of another citizen would be spilled on this night and Dae would be his undertaker. Nearly every night for the last two weeks there had arisen a cross and subsequently every morning there would be a fresh corpse found. No, not found - displayed. A public murder, dirty laundry aired for all to see. The degree of the bodies dismemberment varied, but it was always grotesque. The face was however, always untouched. Left as a tableau, displaying the horror and terror felt in the poor bastard's last moments, struggling desperately for life. To compound the horror, there would always be a corresponding red cross, draped across the forehead. A calling card of sorts, leaving absolutely no doubt as to why this persons connection with life had been severed. A red cross, one not haphazardly sloshed across a poor stonemason's wall with whatever paint may have been at hand, but one methodically depicted, carefully illustrated with the victims own blood. Such was the illustrious mark of Dae.

Dante shook his head in disgust, as a proud lion would shake away a buzzing fly; momentarily irritated, but ultimately rising above the situation, with eyes and mind set upon something greater. Dante was opposed to the killings on a humanistic level, but the politics behind them greatly intrigued him. He sympathized with the plight of those who longed for a better time. An alternate life where high culture, fine art, and mesmerizing architecture were not things that existed only in the past tense, only on the forgotten surface world, but were staples of everyday endeavors.

Lost in thought, Dante found himself aimlessly wandering, at last arriving in the lower-class section of town. Once Dante had called this neighborhood home, but no longer. The concept of home was now alien to him. He was a wanderer. A free spirit, a spirit that now took him sailing along at a quickened pace. Recklessly he took no heed of his surroundings and crashed devoid of any grace, into a peculiar out-jetting porch. With a surprisingly loud clatter, Dante landed face first on the ground, kissing the dirt. The din caused by the tumble echoed throughout the street, but in this neighborhood people were trained to mind their own business. Only a single woman came out to examine the source of the commotion. She was frail and sickly in appearance; face swollen and ravaged by hardship, her hair brittle and straggly as hay. In another life, she may have been beautiful. She feigned a smile in Dante's direction as he collected himself.

"Do come in stranger," the woman beckoned for Dante to follow into her very modest living quarters. "That was quite a fall. You must need to catch your breath."

This was a woman not without her wits. She had lived her entire life in the lower-working class ghetto, struggling to survive in a world not kind to the gentle of heart. A world populated by thieves, scoundrels, and murderers. Not the least of which was standing before her now. Even if she had suspicion, the woman made no moral objections in regards to Dante's character. It was not her place to do so, she had learned from the cruel teacher, experience, that it is often wiser to stay silent. She was not concerned with who she had invited into her home, but was rather preoccupied with a greater trouble. After surveying Dante for just a moment, she spoke abruptly.

"It's my son. He's missing," the woman entreated Dante; "I know a man of your... faculties... can help me. I'm sure of it."

Dante stayed silent for a moment as he starred into the womans eyes. He was peering into the most sincere eyes he had even seen. A great longing to help this woman swept over him. Sentimentality outmaneuvered reason and Dante nodded his assent.

At 11/1/09 03:49 PM, Idiot-Finder wrote: Two of my fantasy teams are benefiting from that game however, but from the projected score it's going to be a squeaker.

Projected scores are not to be trusted :/

The early games have sucked this week; hopefully the Vikings-Packers game can make up for it a little.

I think 2 more people would be better than anything else. I can probably get my buddy (CFL BOI in the football league) to join, if there is someone else to even out the divisions again. 8 teams is really shallow for a h2h league, you'll play the same team what like 4 times a season? Then 6/8 make the playoffs?

I've never been a fan of massive rosters, because it eliminates to a degree, the fun of deciding who to play/bench on any given night, but I'm unfamiliar with how deep basketball is with fantasy viable players. So I'm not really sure.

Never knew this club existed. Novel idea.

I went to a Halloween kegger tonight and made a bunch of drunken texts to this girl I was pretty intimate with, though she "sort of has a boyfriend" - her words. I have the feeling I'm going to wake up in the morning thinking; what the fuck did I do, but I figure it's better to take the chance and gamble on something that's important to you, opposed to suffering in silence. No one ever accomplished anything, doing nothing. Learn from my pathetic-ness if you are ever in a similar situation, the worst thing that can happen is she says no.

Week 8:
Buffalo Bills > Houston Texans
Chicago Bears > Cleveland Browns
Dallas Cowboys > Seattle Seahawks
St. Louis Rams > Detroit Lions
Indianapolis Colts > San Francisco 49ers
New York Jets > Miami Dolphins
New York Giants > Philadelphia Eagles
Baltimore Ravens > Denver Broncos
Jacksonville Jaguars > Tennessee Titans
San Diego Chargers > Oakland Raiders
Green Bay Packers > Minnesota Vikings
Arizona Cardinals > Carolina Panthers
New Orleans Saints > Atlanta Falcons

At 10/27/09 01:02 PM, AniMetal wrote: But why? I don't see why musicians limit themselves.

That's how the genre is.

It's like I'm going to sit down to write a poem and decide it will be a sonnet, but then I decided instead of 14 lines, I want it to be 27 and instead of a Petrarchian or Shakespearean pattern, I make up my own faggotry. My poem now no longer is a sonnet.

Musicians aren't limiting themselves, but if they don't follow generic conventions, they will just cease to be punk.

At 10/27/09 05:19 AM, AniMetal wrote: Does anyone have any more technical and complex punk than the normal stuff which is all really simple?

Isn't that kind of an oxy-moron? I mean I'm sure these bands might exist, but I'm not sure how far you can deviate from the generically set conventions of punk, without leaving the genre altogether.

Progressive Punk(If it exists) recommendations would also be great.

I would imagine the closest thing to this would be post-punk banks like Joy division?

At 10/27/09 01:01 AM, o0-0o wrote: LEAFS WON! PLAYOFFS HERE WE COME!!!!!

lol high five! That was a pretty garbage game though, a bunch of bad calls and then the Ducks goonery got out of hand, even Neidermayer rode a guy into the boards from behind... although it feels good to see bad/stupid penalty calls go for the Leafs as opposed to against them.

The only positive I can see right now is that Gustavsson's got game, had he not been injured the losing streak may have never gotten this out of hand.

At 10/26/09 06:31 AM, jonthomson wrote: beat - 0-4 in fantasy this week and in the newgrounds league someone killed my leon washington

lol, Miles Austin saved my fantasy season in the NG league. Also, Mike Bell put up more fantasy points than both Tomlinson and Barber, lol @ that and of course T.O continues to suck balls. Must be because of the reality TV show - I think it's like a voodoo curse, once you appear on reality television you are doomed to be a complete failure in every aspect of life.

At 10/26/09 01:08 AM, zimzap wrote: I think your standards are a little too high.

I'm being serious. It's no secret how I feel about the Yankees, granted, but my statement wasn't actually meant to be facetious. The Yankees didn't actually play that great in the ALCS, certainly not their best baseball - they left the door wide open for the Angels and instead of seizing the opportunity, they folded like a house of cards. In the ALDS the Yankees simply outclassed the Twins and Minnesota never really looked in the series. The Angels however, outside of being completely dominated by Sabathia matched the Yankees the whole way. But constantly throughout the series they booted the ball, made poor decisions at the plate, were lackadaisical and got caught napping on the base-paths, etc.

I mean really the play where Figgins and Aybar just looked at each other as the ball dropped for a hit... what the fuck was that? That one play basically summed up the whole series.

Look at the game the Yankees won in extra innings, the winning run was scored on what else? A throwing error and general complete fail of a play. Same thing tonight when the Angels backs were really broken in the 8th when the first baseman simply dropped the ball on a routine put out at first. Then on the very next play the pitcher sent the ball sailing into right field. As I said earlier they literally threw the series away. Also 7 walks in an elimination game, including walking home what turned out to be the series clinching run....

Too many mistakes; They beat themselves.

Then again with how sloppily they played the Angels probably didn't deserve to make it as far as game 6, haha. I just expected a better effort from a team that is known for playing such sound fundamental baseball, particularly considering how they were hyped up as being a super focused bunch, driven by the Adenhart-tragedy. It was just an anti-climactic, lack luster performance to end what was otherwise a pretty good season.

I'm probably just bitter because it's 3AM and I can't get to sleep, combined with the fact that I simply can't stand seeing the Yankees win.

Anyways, World Series predictions anyone?:

It hurts me... deep down inside to say this, but I think it just might be their year.

Yankees in 6.

lol I only started writing two days ago, but my class schedule is looking pretty light this week; after 2 weeks of grueling mid-terms and I have this sudden urge to write, so I'm hoping I can get a buzzer beater in.

I don't think I'm very good at this punk think though, but shit worst case scenario my story sucks the bag.

The stories submitted so far looked pretty good, unfortunately there isn't many of them :(

At 10/25/09 11:40 PM, Jezuz wrote: Anyone notice bongs don't do shit compared to a good joint?

.... Seriously? Unless I'm out somewhere or it's an on-the-go-thing, I would never smoke a joint, if a bong is available. To me there is no comparison.

Oh oh, right, question. How can I tell good weed from shit weed when buying it?

Experience is about the only thing I can think of. I used to get most of my stuff from an old buddy of mine, so I would always light up with him before I committed, to sort of 'test drive', before purchase. So I never really had to worry about that until recently.

When buying from randoms, I never commit to anything in large amounts. The first time; I never pick up any more than a gram or two, then if the dude is chill and his shit is decent. I'll re-up and be like, give me a half-o of what I got last time or something to that effect. I generally use my friends dealers though, because I like to put my money together with someone and get an ounce or two, so I have enough to do me for a while, instead of having to make a succession of smaller scores. Personally I've only had two go to guys my whole life, though I've bought from dozens of people once or twice. If I have one piece of advice it's don't commit to anything until you know exactly what you're in for.

WOW @ The Angels. They literally Threw the game away.

They could have easily won this series, if only they knew how to throw and catch.

At 10/25/09 02:40 AM, FatJoe214 wrote: I'll rob a bank at 1:58 and then go to some place with a camera and by that time it'll be 1:23 and I'll stay there until about 2:09 and with that alibi I won't get caught cause the camera says i was there from 1:23 to 2:09 and the robbery took place at 1:58.

Hey genius, you don't really go back in time.

The book sucked. I prefer the movie

Fix Yout Portal, by HLG Type: Movie Rating: Everyone

I don't think I've ever cried as an adult because of a film. Certain particularly depressing/sad scenarios have made my eyes cloud up a bit and had me pretty close, but I'm not sure if I've ever fully descended into waterworks. Strange thing is I can't even remember what movies almost made me cry, I think it's more the accumulation of a particular scenario happening to a character I pity or have a vested interest in, more than the overall gist of the movie itself.

Also, to quote Drama from Entourage: "Brian's song! The ultimate guy cry movie!"

I'm interested in getting into martial arts, what (discipline?/type?/don't know the right terminology?) would you guys suggest for a beginner? (preferably not karate) Really I just want something that I can have fun learning and my main goal is getting a good, abstract work out. Hitting the gym gets a little redundant from time to time and I figure something engaging would be a good supplement for those days when the idea of spending half an hour on a treadmill makes you want to vomit. Though the self-defense aspect would be cool, I'm willing to sacrifice real-world practicality, in favour of fun and physical exercise merit.