| Sick as a Dog |
[02 Mar 2005|10:12pm] |
So I'm sick...I guess I had it coming. My fingers are healing up nicely and Rei seems awful tempting. I've found happiness in only two things: Music and .... I get sad when I see people perform and I'm not up there. Sad to the point where I toil endless with my bass. When I have lots of money I'm making a custom bass, I have it already envisioned. It's going to be fretted, but scalloped, and something no one has seen before, a 12-string bass. I am going to tune it so to the chords of a guitar (because the second strings are just guitar strings, octave up on common 8-strings). I want the headstock to have a similar design to a Rickenbacker head...can't have it exactly the same or I could get sued. I can't decide if I want passive or active pickups but there is for sure going to be three. I think I'll decide on pickups after I pick what kind of wood, the location of the wood and the garden where it comes from. I want a 3 pick-up switch toggle, one for top and middle, other for middle and bottom, and the last for all. Custom paint job (duh, but not sure on colour or design). The body is going to be designed assymetrically, and will depend on the look of the neck and head. Oh, oh, oh, and I'm going to probably want it semi-hallow for that accousticy sound. Maybe even a second toggle to have it pick up ONLY the string vibrations for a electric feel! Hmmm, I know I'm missing stuff...oh, the truss rods are going to be individually wound, if it's possible for a guitar that fat. I'm thinking about an Ibanez style neck to be able to fret quickly. Medium action. Oooooh, CUSTOM INLAY. Not sure what I want the design to be, custom fret dots or an actual design like Jessica. The machine heads I may decide to be those old school looking ones with the gears, but those can be bleh and lose tunage. Definitely a clover looking peg though, kinda like the Fender pegs but smaller. I think since it's going to be so completely custom and not factory at all, I may as well go all the way and have the neck and body and head not glue or screw attached. That will make it more expensive and if it breaks it's toast, but I'll take care of this baby. Okay, enough day-dreaming for one day.
So I'm bass shopping again, well browsing really. Gotta buy my amp and headstock first. But I'm looking for a good 5-string. It's looking like right now between a Fender P-bass or Jazz, or a Warwick. The thing I am having such a hard time with is the body, I know it's not a big deal but I can't play a bass that I don't feel good holding. And they havn't grown on me at all. Suggetions anyone?
My days have been okay I suppose. I just feel crappy from my cut-up fingers and sickness as of late. Havn't been to many classes. On March 5th I'll be 19, one step closer to death, my day of the millions who have it of the 364 other days after. I have auditions that failed to happen over reading week coming up. Blah I hope they turn out because I'm sick of the deprivity. Someone wanna play with me?
I don't know what to do about it. I accept it all, but I hate it. Think twice when you think about it.
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[26 Feb 2005|01:54am] |
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a knivety knives edge. It's really funny how one can bleed with no effort at all. If you don't have it you're on the other side. A blade is the essence of life. if makes you feel truely alive. everyone else is shit, a lie. lights are just a distraction from the dark. the truth in onthe other edge of the knife
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[21 Feb 2005|09:44pm] |
So I havn't updated in some time. Sue me. My background is too ugly for me to want to enjoy making you more scared of me. What have I done? School (honest), and a lot of alcohol. It is a great time killer and overall destroyer of rational thought. I bought magazines today, guitar magazines...I'm an official guitar freak. Alas.
Auditioning for bands soon. I don't know how that will turn out. Hopefully for the best.
Today I accidentally ate a real hamburger...it said mushroom burger and my mom ordered a regular hamburger...they looked the same and had the same kind of stuffs on them. Needless to say after 3 years of vegetarianism, my stomach did not handle real meat and I deposited 7 dollars into the local toilet.
I've concluded that I am the only one in the universe with great music taste. If you don't like that, too bad, I'm still better than you. Music I declare everyone should listen to religiously, in no particular order:
1) Elliott Smith. Words can not describe who vivid this guy is. Not lyrically but just with his voice you know exactly what he is feeling. Listen to songs such as Angeles, Say Yes, and Because the Bars. Elliott died a few years ago due to -two- self-inflicted stab wounds to the heart. And it doesn't surprise me.
2) Broken Social Scene. A cult of jammage-driven musicians who have some how been able to make incredible music without getting ego involved. All trying their very best just to add a peice to the mosaic in every song. You Forgot It In People is a masterpiece, perfect album.
3) Alice In Chains. Great band without being assholes about it. Existed in the "grunge" era, and slightly earlier too. Better than Nirvana and no one had to die to become legendary, holy shit.
4) The Pixies. It took me two years to like these three. I don't know why I didn't like it. It was probably because it was a gift from someone for themselves. Never had a chance to sit down with it. It's experimental and on the edge of progression even in our standards. They broke up early ninety's but they are still one of the most influential bands in history which don't get their deserved credit. When Kurt Cobain was asked his inspiration for "Smells Like Teen Spirit" he replied, "Basically, I just wanted to rip off The Pixies as best as I could."
I could go on, but I'm getting bored. I'm bored now but this is very slow and annoying.
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| (insert lie here) |
[27 Jan 2005|11:43pm] |
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I see what you are, I know what I've become. I give up...why is it that life makes the most sense when you are at the low? Perhaps it's a message.
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| Never in the best of spirits |
[16 Jan 2005|09:49pm] |
Oh, well then. I have been here in quite some time. The intervals seem to be getting longer. Well lathargic, I am. Hang me, chop off my head, inject me with vicious chemicals, what have you...I don't feel like writing on this silly thing so I don't. Now I do, so I shall indulge myself:
People fucking suck ass. All of you. Go to hell. We can cheat and lie and steal and break each others hearts there. Some hearts were just made to be broken. Disadvantaged are those who care. I should stop caring.
So I'm buying a new bass. I don't care what any of you say, Rickenbacker's are fucking good. Why is it that everyone thinks they know everything about instruments? I mean, I don't think I know everything about music, but I don't let the media tell me what I think is good or not. I don't forget what people are. Kurt Cobain was a motherfucking faggot in life. A complete asshole. NO I don't know him, do you? That doesn't mean I'm saying his music was bad. His music was revolutionary, and great. "Kurt Cobain was a motherfucking faggot in life" means exactly what it says. Oh and by the way, Nirvana is not the "King of Grundge". Try and prove me wrong.
God damnit, I'm turning into an alcoholic or something. I don't get it. Binge drinking is addictive. I don't have a problem...yet. Oh well, I need some kind of relief from this whole thing. I don't do any sort of drugs or anything of the sort, allow me this.
So I'm moving to Brandon Hall, what new adventures wait in store for me. Tune in next week.
Fuck off now.
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[05 Jan 2005|07:58pm] |
I put all of my blood, sweat, and especially tears into my bass guitar. People wonder why I love it so much...well I love it because it gives me what cutting open my body doesn't; complete release. I could use money for it right now, I want to leave everything and play music for the rest of my life. I don't care how poor I'll be. I'd give it all up for a steady gig job at a local shit-box bar. I've found my dream, but it's a dream that needs work. Like most dreams I suppose.
So I havn't written in a while, I wonder why. I want to, but everytime I sit down to type, I look away. I hate the reactions people give me I suppose.
Today was your final release. Good luck.
Stop calling me emo please. I hate when you call me that. It's like you belittle the things I've worked really hard to overcome. No one is strong enough to overcome what I have to go through daily and not have breakdowns. I don't need someone degrading my pain. Please stop. It makes me think like you don't give a flying fuck. And if you don't, then just say it.
I return to university and hate it again. I'm getting drunk tonight by myself once again in order to get away from here. If I turn into an alcoholic, it's my fault but it's better than other possibilities that come to mind. I'm stil living and fighting.
I need to leave university, this place is too complicated for me. I want a place where music is primary above all else. It's the only thing that I can see (hear in this case) that has ever been truely pure. Everyday I become more obsessed. What am I going to do.
The bottom of a bottle calls for me now. Bye.
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| The mind of I who has had enough |
[19 Dec 2004|08:27pm] |
I used to believe, I really did. I tried really hard to stand by my convictions, that was a big one in my life too. But how do you stand by those when they keep spitting at you? Isn't that a sign that they are wrong if you are frequently shown the opposite of what it is? Martyr's are kind of like that too. They just get glorified because they are too scared and ignorant to realize they are wrong. Whatever though.
I'm not a whiner. I don't say things to make people feel sorry for me. If I did, I would tell everything about myself here. But if you didn't realize, most of everything said here is obscure. Odd how that works. I say the same things over and over again, well maybe that's because no one can answer them for me, nor is there an answer for them. Saying don't think about it is bullshit. I won't live in that form of ignorance. I won't pretend that the world is okay and everything is fine. If it's not, I won't lie to myself. You may think you see a contradiction with these last few sentences but think again. Living what you feel, and proclaiming what you feel to anyone who isn't rude enough to tell you to fuck off isn't hypocritical. It works. Your answers don't work for me, nor are they truly real answers; they are just ways to not have to deal with them. My mid-life is now because three seconds from now I may not have a life. My time is not later, because time is fleeting. The answers won't come if I don't look because it's just as possible that if I look they are there. Don't say I drift away from people who help, when you're the one who drifts from me because you can't satisfy my questions. Don't say I push people away when I'm the one being pushed. This is not a sap story, this is not a victimization, this is my thoughts. Not someone else's, it's not a way for anyone to feel bad for me. It's a way to understand that I'm thoroughly sick of everything we (as a living creature) in this world do. I won't shy away from those hard to answer questions just because they are hard. If any of you can't handle it, fine. The most cliche, but probably the most profoundly true statement I've ever heard is by this Nazi some people call Socrates. He said "The unexamined life is not worth living". Fuck Socrates, but he had one good point.
So what if my answers are leading me to a darker path. I won't find lies as a solution. If I don't see the world as pretty as you all do, then fuck off. I don't care, if you can't handle it leave me alone. I thought there were people out there who did. But everyone just half-asses, pretends to agree, sympathizes until they get tired of hearing it, or is just flat out ignorant. I'm done my little speech. The older I get, the more people I see, the more disgusted I am with all of you. I gave you one last chance, and well, it was ruined quite awesomely. Not going to be for a long time where I ever trust any person fucking again.
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| Apologize and sign with a yawn |
[16 Dec 2004|11:59pm] |
I'm sorry for all the tears I make you shed in my name. I don't deserve the friendship you offer me. Nothing I can do or say will make up for the kind of person I'm becoming.
I can't give it up. I can't get over it. I will never be able to. The more I try, the deeper I get. There's nothing I can do about it. I hate it. I'll never give it up because it's too important. I'll take it to my grave.
New tattoos and piercings and oh, oh, what lovely music equipment I shall be playing with. Speaking of the such, there's word a music shop may open up by my house. Should it happen, I WILL get a job there. If I get a job there, I WILL take a year off school to see if it's something I want to do for the rest of my life. I hate money, I hate school, I hate the education and the frame of mind it puts you in. I dislike what they are trying to change us into. I'm tired now. Good-bye.
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| Headaches and Tingles |
[07 Dec 2004|10:58pm] |
Hello, hello, hello...
I havn't written in these cryptic zero's and one's in quite some time. Alas, I havn't felt like giving you anything to know about me, oh my reader. Don't take that as an offense though, few due get the grim duty of actually listening to my selfish, and often pointless rantings about this' and that's. Nor, would I want to trouble a soul as to have to hear anything unless I felt it would actually prove to be beneficial in any way shape or form.
So, riot on Parliament hill...good job you angry people. Marx said "The only way any real change can happen is through armed conflict". You've taken the first step. Get more angry, kill some innocents and maybe you will see even greater change. There's too many human beings here anyways, let's do our part and thin out the population. Should the need arise, I'd happily partake in the ending of my own if the blessed event of mass purging should occur. Ah, my dreams are grandiose and cloudstruck.
I received my lovely new acoustic bass guitar. She plays like a dream. Oh, her name is Jessica. The real Jessica didn't like that very much, but I couldn't think of a more appropriate name for something that gives me so much joy. I have a lot of monies to go through in order to pay my habits. Better than resorting to drugs I suppose, and oh, would I ever. Keeping my mind on music makes everything more tolerable...it's the only thing that can truly be created without ever being destroyed. Notes, and instruments, and songs can always be forgotten...but the emotions invoked will always be pure, and raw, and indestructible.
I won't give up. I can't. It means too much to me. I know if I stick through and maintain my strength, it will come back to me. Sometimes you need to let go to know if you really had it in the first place. I know loss, I'm sure everyone knows a degree of it. The scars will always be there, and because of that I can never forget. I'm too stubborn, and fucked up to try something new. Guess we'll see if it does exist.
I don't like university. I thought I would go there and find people I could connect with. Who understand me truely, and naturally. But again, I feel like the black sheep. The people I connect with are the ones who I'd rot very young with. A tempting idea. My skin tingles in ways that only someone who knows the tingling can understand. People are stupid, they can all just die. Hell is other people.
So my grandfather is probably going to die. I can feel it. Good for him I suppose. He pains a lot so it's likely for the best. We all pain a lot. When do we determine when it's okay to leave? How can I so naturally say it's okay for my grandfather to go but not someone else. I don't understand.
Back in Oakville, sucks. I work for money, which is nice but I hate it. Why won't you just give me what I need. Why do I have to pay for my habits. Very boring, help.
Headache in the cranium...shut off the noise. That fucking buzzing is driving me nuts.
My body makes a sound, like a car engine. Why can't we have better machines for transportation?
Electricity, eccentricity, curiosity, mortality...fatality.
Break the skin and free me from my cage. I was hot, but now I'm not. Cold and free, staining the ground
In the end, we only have ourselves...do whatever the fuck you want. Jail isn't that bad. You're fed, you know what your schedule will be. So what if you are fucked in the ass a few times. There's worse. So go kill something, start a fire, blow up a building. Consider it a personal favour.
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| There's a rumbly in my tumbly...what a shame, what a shame |
[18 Nov 2004|10:58am] |
Mornings are the bane of my existence. If only I didn't have to wake up at all. Aaah, forever sleep...what a dream it is (all pun intended, oh my faithful and loyal reader). So, I havn't entered in my little slice of life for quite some time it seems. I apologize in advance to you who enjoys hearing of my "up and comings", or for those who just enjoy a little laugh. What has happened? Humm...
Oh yes, yesterday I discovered the mathematical equation for whether God exists or not...but unfortunately I lost the sheet of paper and havn't the foggiest of what I wrote, alas. Oh, oh, and I also created a Cold Fusion reactor right here in the basement of McKay hall; my lovely residence. While in experimentation I fell upon a portal through the space-time continuum and was in another world for about twenty odd years. But their time goes much more quickly than ours does and I was back in mere seconds. And what a world it was. Filled with candy canes and short-necked giraffes. A rather pretty place whose name I also seemed to have misplaced among my sheet of paper and other things, alas again I digress.
Ah, ah, new tattoo concepts to be stabbed and inked and pained into my body in a months time. My skin is screaming with anticipation. I tried to calm it down with some moisturizing cream but oh, it just kept screaming. I'll give it a bath tonight to show I still love and care for it and would love to give it a new icon to wear proudly. Oh and piercings too, but all are a secret to you, my loyal reader. I can't give away the climax of the story without first building up a little suspense now can I?
Hum, hum, hum... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... .. .. . . . . . . .
I don't fear death
I've come rather close on many occasions
What I do fear is wasting my life I think
And there is so much to waste
I think I question what wasting life is differently
Because what is obvious to others just seems so un-obvious to me
Does that make me a bad person?
Oh, I do hope it doesn't that would be sad
I don't want to be a bad person
I do realize that evil means are required for good deeds
My one and only gift to you, oh my reader
Will be to tell you my secrets when I find them
Free of charge, no strings attached, PST and GST already paid
Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Evening, and Good Night
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| Welcome to Planet Earth: City of Pigs and Assholes |
[25 Oct 2004|07:37pm] |
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We are not special. Everything your mommy and daddy told you about you being able to touch the sky is wrong. They simply tell you this so you think you can go far enough until you're satisfied with your limitations. We are not predisposed for success, we are predisposed to failure. You are not special, I am not special, this is not special. We are another number, another economic gain, a productive citizen. When you hear this, you will likely disagree with me...well that's because it's not easy to accept. You are taught to deny this. Santa Claus was hard to get over too, get over yourselves on this one. You will live for a while, and then die. No one will remember you. Even those that are supposedly remembered are just illusions. You can die now, or die later...I stay just to see what tomorrow brings. If you die tomorrow, I won't be sad; I'll be happy. Let's find a better way to live, or not live. People are fake. As fake as I am, why do I bother...
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| Weekend jargan and my mind is grey |
[17 Oct 2004|04:18pm] |
Hmm, Sunday afternoon. The day of rest and high tensions. Monday is a terrible day; most people on average die on Monday's. Most people also live for Friday's. Interesting place to live, it is. Well, on my loverly Messaging program I have put a picture of slit wrists...tell me what your first reactions were my loyal readers. No questions will be answered at this time, the press must be held back.
I gave up on the one thing that I thought I would never have to. It gets harder each day. Why can't it be like the past. I'm sick of drama, and change, and society, and all of life's movements. Stability...oh stability please now and forever would certainly be a change of pace. If I let go, and give up not just the most important thing, but everything, maybe I can find my peace. Contemplation ensues.
People are vicious. Even more vicious than I. I'm vicious but I'm direct with my viciousness. Most of these other 'individuals' don't even realize their violent, malicious, and dangerous natures. They don't see how evil they are, or act, or feel. Am I the only one who sees this? Is that why few get along with me? Is that why I see futility in all things? Maybe my mind is grey.
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| Long awaited dream achieved at last... |
[10 Oct 2004|08:14pm] |
Well then...in case you really want to know my dreams, oh my readers it is as simple as this:
I always wanted to see the numbers on the gas station signs Cent/Litre sign change. Lo, and behold...the numbers changed on my excursions into Suburbia today. Highlight of my fucking month.
Turkey Day is coming and passing. Home-cooked meals are a gift from God while living in a place where your main diet is cold, still-in-can, Alphagetthi (Eating from the can cuts down on cleaning dishes). The best gift I could get aside from music, and music-making devices is food. Good, warm, prepared food. I havn't touched my books since I've been home. This place is terrible for my working habits. Well, Rei calls to be plucked. If I havn't seen you with my physical eyes, my reader I truly digress. There will be other times, and other coming-togethers in which we can enjoy, and party, and laugh at the futility of life and such things related.
Signed,
He who has seen the numbers move at gas stations (it is not an illusion of our minds that they change after all)
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[07 Oct 2004|05:24pm] |
To Do List:
=> Get new eyebrow ring
=> Get new stabity, facey, things
=> Fix Playstation 2
=> Homework
=> Face Wash, Hair care products, toothbrush
=> Laundry
=> Purchase music
=> Enquire about my Music-Maker at ye locale Guitar Shoppe
=> Visit place of employment for a little chit-chat
=> Discover the solution to World Peace
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| Perfectly Alligned Teeth and I Want You to Know Why |
[06 Oct 2004|09:04pm] |
Hello reader...
Today I write at the wee hours of the morn' when the night is still young and the stars are still shining. It makes me sad that a fine amount of slaughtering will occur this weekend. Many-a fat ol' birds will find serrated edges separating their throats from the rest of the fattened bodies which were pumped full of sad, sad, chemicals to rippen them up for the harvest. An exciting time for our feathered friends. They shall see rooms they have never seen...pictures and images which will dazzle their minds, and shortly after, a loud sound and forever darkness. A pleasant way to go out I suppose.
I had a rather interesting weekend. Music is the only anchor for my life on this level. After intoxicating myself with various substances, I engrossed myself in the loud sounds and audio-sights which I continue to learn new respects for. I achieved what can only be described as tantric...multiple, intense, orgasms running from the bottom of my spine to my neck; a highlight of my night. Then a fascination occured, I became obsessed with pointy-sharpy things. Oh, and we had a time we did. But it seems those who didn't understand my pleasures were frightened by my behaviour. What a scene, what a scene.
I found a certain program which has made me happy. It is essentially an intuitive radio station program. And it has very lovely taste in music. LAUNCHcast...please look at it, no more bullshit radio.
Time to sign-off for the night, oh my readers. In the immortal words of Bambi..."Be kind to each other"...
(Thank you for making souls)
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| Release |
[29 Sep 2004|03:52pm] |
I've decided not to share my dream. Not out of embarrassment or guilt or pity...simply because I don't fucking want to write it. If you really give a shit, ask me. This week has gone by slow; procrastination and the futility of the passing hours leave me in a bit of a vex. Oh, how I would love to find the how-comes and what-abouts of it all. But alas, I'm stuck in a shit hole existence with no escape. Death won't find me true freedom either; not in the ways I imagine you are thinking, oh my reader.
My eyes hurt from restless nights and uncomfortable, terrible dreams. Some may say I'm not doing so well, but you have no fucking clue what well for me is. At least I have distractions for this sickening behaviour. The only real freedom is in an insane asylum where each passing day is lived by the intoxication of dulling drugs or your own free will to do whatever you see fit and be accepted for it. Fuck, you may even be studied and become an interest to some young fucking ambitious psychologist who thinks he knows what goes on in your brain when you can't even explain it. You can make a lot of money for him.
"Life is only the outer layer, for reality is only realized by the insane."
~Valleix Herard
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[27 Sep 2004|12:21am] |
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places
Worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going no where
Going no where
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression
No expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow
No tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday
Happy birthday
And I feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen
Sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me
No one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson
Look right through me
Look right through me
And I find I kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Enlarging your world
Mad world
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| Nightmares and the morning after |
[23 Sep 2004|10:51am] |
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I have been neglecting you, oh my journal. Busy times, busy times... I had a very vicious nightmare last night that has put me off for the rest of today. I'll talk about it tomorrow when I feel like thinking about it.
Imperfection is what I please. The folly, fickle nature of the perfectly sculpted body holds no sense of merit or arousal in m mind. I feed off of your insecurities. I know, that you know, that you know you're not what you want to be; that's what I love. It is the most intoxicating part of a woman. The loathing, the self hatred, and the sad dilemma of your impossible dreams are what turn me on. The love of your personal hatred. So shut-up and fuck me.
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| A Day of Firsts |
[10 Sep 2004|12:36am] |
First University class, first professor, first day of a radical lifestyle...it's weird. I don't understand how or why or what I'm doing here; and I probably never will, but at least there are people who care here. I'm sick of the bullshit of ignorance and the uninformed masses...learn and make your own critical judgments. Be open-minded and progressive, think of tomorrow and not hundreds of years past. We are a socially evolving species, allow the evolution to occur. More places severely need the University environment of acceptance and respect and knowledge. Although there are things wrong with the education system, University is one of the greatest places I've ever had the privilage of standing in. The color of your skin, your religion, and your interests are all accepted here. The only thing that isn't is the blatantly obvious who aim to please, it is quite apparent when someone is not being honest and true to themselves. Those are the ones that get ostracized, not the ones who are uniquely themselves, rather the ones who sadly left their individuality back at home alongside their common sense. People fucking suck.
"All these people drinking lover's spit
They sit around and clean their face with it
And they listen to teeth to learn how to quit
Tied to a night they never met...
You know its time that we grow old and do some shit
I like it all that way
I like it all that way...
All these people drinking lover's spit
Swallowing words while giving head
They listen to teeth to learn how to quit
Take some hands and get used to it..."
-Lover's Spit (Broken Social Scene)
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| Throbbing feet and Skippy |
[08 Sep 2004|12:42am] |
As I write this, i can feel my heart pushing forth blood into the veins of the pads of my tender dogs. I also feel the pressure of the cycle of the arties thrusting the old, used blood back to my lungs. It's painful, but cool. Aaah sadissm.
On a similar note, today was the highlight of my past week for one reason alone. Skippy, the ninja-rabies Squirrel. We were walking into a hall (Togo Salmon, what a fucking queer ass name) and we see this squirrel scaling the window side and making great headway. He must have climbed 8 stories to the top. I'm sitting their laughing my god damned ass off while everyone is cheering this psycho-rodent on. I had malicious visions of this burly rat plummeting to his (or her) exhilarating, "final plunge"; all pun intended. He is on his last leg and suddenly, the god damned fucking squirrel slips and comes flying downward.
Now, two feelings are running through me. One is concern for this poor, squirrel; the other is pure excitement to watch this fucker splash its innards all over these first year students, scarring them for life. Well, the bitch bounced. No splash and squish and spray of the red liquid. Happy dissapointment was my mental companion. I was certain the ninja rat broke all of it's legs and bones, and crunchables. After a few minutes of catching it's breath after likely shitting itself and giving it's legs a well-deserved rest after handling a 8 story kamikaze, Skippy ran off. Best 5 minutes of McMaster yet.
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